Last Death
by DamaDeHonor
Summary: Future fic. "...maybe I can bring Dad back... maybe he's not completely gone. Maybe there's something left of him. I have to believe that... or there's not gonna be anything left of me."
1. Past Midnight

**A/N:** My sister wrote a fic based on this story, if you'd like to check it out: **(VesperRegina)'s** "like a coin that won't get tossed." Enjoy the fic. :D

* * *

**Last Death**

**One - "Past Midnight"**

"Dad... he was... a piece of work," Rob said, "When I was nine, he told me that he'd never ditch me anywhere, that he'd always be there, no matter what. I mean, I believed him. But the guy was like forty already, and I guess that didn't register in my little-kid brain."

Lina gave him a look, and he shrugged and smiled self-consciously. "When I was twelve, he told me that he killed his first... demon at that age, but that I wasn't touching a gun until I was twenty-one." He chuckled. "I ended up learning from my adopted uncle the next year." Lina raised a questioning brow, so he explained, "A friend of my dad's."

"Oh, so... the guy raised _him_ or something like that?" the girl wondered. She was so young to be a hunter, but they were getting younger these days. He tried not to think about it.

"No, it's complicated, but the guy was there for him and... and his... best friend during a hard time."

"Oh," she said, shifting in her seat and motioning with her many-ringed hand, "Go on."

"Well," he cleared his throat, "When I was eighteen, Dad was nearly fifty, and he had a heartattack. I... didn't have anybody else but my uncle, so I did something really stupid. I went to a crossroads."

"Huh?" she asked, and he winced.

"You bury something that belongs to you, like a piece of yourself, along with a little voodoo spell," he explained, "And a demon shows up to make a deal with you."

"So you like... totally sold your soul?" she asked in horror.

"Yeah," he said, quietly, remembering how his father had looked when he'd shown up at the hospital room.

_The doctor had greeted him with a smile. Dad hadn't._

_And when the doctor and nurses had left, he'd torn into Rob with, "What the heck did you think you were doing?"_

_"Wh-What do you mean?" Rob had asked, but his father had stared through him with those all-knowing eyes, and he'd crumbled. He'd fallen onto the bed, holding his dad's arms and sobbing onto his chest, "Dad, I had to, I don't want you to leave me! Don't leave... Dad..."_

"So, what happened?" Lina wondered, leaning forward in suspense.

Rob shrugged. "Dad broke the contract for me."

Lina stared at him silently, for a moment. Finally, she swallowed and said, "You mean, he died?"

He nodded, took a drink from his glass, and smiled at her. "It's okay..."

"But that's... so messed up," she murmured, "Why...? I mean... I understand why... Dang it."

"He said, 'A father shouldn't outlive his kid. Let me go.'"

"That sucks, though. Rotten-eggs sucks." She took a disgusted drink of her own alcoholic concoction.

"You had to've known my dad though, to know why he did it." He cleared his throat.

"Men."

"Nah, it was my dad. A normal man would've buckled under all that crap. Dad took a beating, and he... didn't feel it. I guess." He gazed away at the slow ebb and flow of the bar. There weren't many customers at this hour. Just the hunters, mostly, and the die-hards.

"Masochist," she spit under her breath, but he could tell she was just teasing.

"No," he said, and stared for a few minutes, drinking until the rest of his beverage was gone. "He lost his best friend, and he wasn't the same afterward. He messed himself up real good after... and then he tried hunting instead of drinking. He ended up, according to my uncle, in the hospital five times in one month."

Lina whistled low under her breath, and started shaking her head. "Yeah... and he still didn't manage to kill himself," Rob continued, "And then my uncle tried to reach him, couldn't. Tried to have a hunter's intervention--Dad knocked a couple people out, then walked out. And finally, he started with the women again. That was... uh, about five years after his... after that person actually died, before he got to that place. Guess it finally got through his thick skull that he wasn't going to die." He let out a soft, scoffing breath, and wondered if maybe it would've been better if his father _had_ died.

"Man," Lina whispered, incredulously.

"So, he gets drunk one night, meets up with an old friend... a hunter. She's a little older now, and he doesn't feel guilty about it anymore. He knows she knows the rules." He smiled sadly, "My mother. But then, she died, and my grandmother took me to my uncle, and told him that she couldn't take it. She couldn't keep me because... because the men in my family seemed to have a bad habit of killing the people she loved. I don't know what happened to her after that... my uncle don't either."

Lina's eyes filled, but she clenched her jaw and looked down. She reminded him a little bit of someone, but it was hard for him to remember right now. He needed to finish this story... maybe get some sleep. Maybe not. "Anyway, I was with my uncle for a few months before Dad came around again, messed up as usual... He says when he saw me, he thought I was..." He laughed. "He says he thought I was a hunting job my uncle was working on."

Lina blinked, then let out a nervous giggle. "So... when he find out you were his?"

"When he got mended a little bit, my uncle told him, slapped him, and gave me to him. Said, 'If you don't get your life together now, _he_ never will.' So Dad took me, and he did the best he could."

"That's..." Lina began, then shook her head. She laughed a little. "I mean, my parents were normal. Well, until they tried to kill me. But... I knew it was 'cause they was possessed. So... I'm okay with it now." He could tell she wasn't, by the way her voice had risen in pitch, the way she was murdering that poor napkin on the table.

He took her hand, momentarily. "Never mind."

"Huh?" she asked, and he shrugged and let her hand go.

"When I turned twenty, last year, my uncle told me what happened to my-- my father's friend." He swallowed. "He... started... he killed some people before he died... people thought maybe he was starting to go bad."

Lina stared.

"You know... my Dad always used to say that I reminded him of his friend. He said it... almost everytime he got drunk." A soft chuckle escaped through his nose. "He said, 'You know, you always, always remind me of-- of him. I don't want you to sometimes. Sometimes, I do. But you always do. So I'm glad. You just keep up whatever you're doing. I'm proud.' And after he said that, he'd usually fall asleep."

"What does... what does your uncle say about that?" she asked, with the quirk of a smile at the corner of her lips.

"That he was off his rocker," Rob said, "He says that I'm my father, through and through, and that he just _wanted_ to see his friend in me." He shrugged. "I don't know... 'cause sometimes, he'd look at me, and he had this weird expression on his face. Kinda lost in space, you know? And he'd just stare, and I'd say something, and he wouldn't snap out of it."

"So you think maybe he did," she murmured, and Rob nodded. "But maybe it was just all in his head like your uncle said."

Rob swallowed, and the tears sprang up. He started to say something like, "I need to go--" but she took his hand, and asked, "Are you okay?"

He nodded, but said, "My uncle... died... yesterday. Today...? What time is it now? Past twelve?"


	2. Rest Your Head

* * *

**Two - "Rest Your Head"**

Rob left Lina a week ago, not in _that_ way; as in, literally.

He'd only been with someone once, and he'd been with that person for awhile because he'd thought it would work out. It hadn't, so he'd decided "never again." It was too hard, finding someone, letting them go, especially if you were attached in some way. He tried not to get attached anymore... Too bad he wasn't more like his dad.

His father had been able to remain unattached even when he was technically attached. Just, mentally, the guy was solitary. Rob was too open for that--he couldn't detach his emotions from his physical desires. And he could barely keep _himself_ together, let alone try and keep someone together _with_ him.

That was why he was _here_, at another bar--because he couldn't detach himself. Because he couldn't let go of ghosts that weren't even proper ghosts. His uncle's bones had been salted and burned, just like Dad had taught him. It was really ironic. So ironic, he took another drink of whatever he was drinking. Vodka? Nah, couldn't be... it tasted like a bitter soda.

What sissy had bought him this drink, anyhow? He looked around. A guy in dark clothing walked into the room, taller than all the men in the bar--not including the humongous bouncers--way taller than Rob, although Rob was only about 5' 7". He looked familiar, but for some reason, Rob couldn't figure why.

He'd just go and ask, his drunken, ADD brain suggested. He got up, taking the girly drink with him, just to have something to hold onto... in case he fell, or something. "Hey," he said, when he got to the man's side. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

The guy looked slightly down at him. "Is that a pick-up line, kid?"

_Kid?_ Well, he guessed he _could_ pass for a kid, Rob realized. He'd started drinking before he turned twenty-one, and he was twenty-one now so... yeah, maybe he looked young on the outside... to most people. "Old geizer," he replied, "I don't pick up on men. I like women. Older women, mostly. You know any? You seem like... what? Fifty, sixty?"

The man frowned. He really wasn't that old, maybe in his late forties, with only a few strands of grey throughout his shaggy, brown hair, but that's what he got for calling Rob a "kid." But he didn't act too offended, instead, he kept staring down at Rob like he was searching for the same thing Rob had been looking for a minute ago--recognition.

"Maybe we have met," the man said, "What's your name?"

"Rob," he said, and smiled. "I change my mind, though. We don't know each other. See ya around." He turned to go, and nearly tripped over a chair leg that was sticking out way, way too far. His drink slipped from his hand and shattered on the already sticky floor. Someone caught him before he fell, too, and turned him around. The tall dude.

"Kid," the guy said, "You're going to get yourself killed. Come on." He pulled Rob away from the crowd, out into a street, over to a little motel on the way. "Inside," he murmured, and guided Rob all the way to one of the two beds.

"I'm not tired," Rob said, inanely. "And my baby will miss me..." He tried to get up again, but the man shoved him back down. He fell back against the mattress... closed his eyes.

* * *

_"Dad!"_

John Sullivan was awakened by a scream that shouldn't have been possible. It was too young, too frightened. The young man he'd met the other night had been cocky, eccentric, klutzy. He hadn't been young and terrified.

But glancing over to the other bed's thrashing occupant proved him wrong. "Rob, wake up!" he called, but he was already unfolding himself from the bed and pretending he didn't notice his popping bones. He was getting old, and he wished he knew why that bothered him so much to know. Then again, it probably bothered everybody...

"Rob!" he called again, and shook the young man by his shoulder. The kid jerked violently, and then a fist flew that could've caught John's chin if he hadn't already been prepared for it.

"What?" Rob yelled, "God, no! Dad!" then settled down, covering his own face with his arm. He was too thin under the leather jacket and layers of shirts, and he was shaking, and John just had to sit down on the side of the bed. He didn't try to hug the kid, but he was there just so that Rob knew it.

"It's me, Rob," John said, "Are you here?" Or was he somewhere in his past still, or his dream?

"I'm here... Mister... get away from me. You're too freakin' tall, and you're making me feel like a girl."

John snorted. "You look like a girl," he said, but moved over to his own bed and flipped on the lamp, while he was at it.

Rob sat up a little bit, his short, dark-blond hair sticking out every which way, pupils in green eyes like pinpricks before they finally adjusted. "Not. And I have a knife... and a gun."

"Mmhm," John said, but chuckled. "You know I'm a hunter too, don't you? That means I have a whole _truck_ full of weapons."

"Which part of your truck?" Rob asked, waspishly. "'Cause you have to hide them, and that makes it just a _part_ of your truck, not the whole thing."

"Huh," John said, "God, you're reminding me of someone, but I just can't put my finger on it."

"Who _are_ you, anyway?" the kid demanded, disgustedly, and swung his feet over the side of the bed.

"John Sullivan," he answered, "You?"

"Robert Colt," the kid replied, and for some reason, the last name gave John a twinge.

"Like the gun?" he heard himself asking, and was a little peeved by the way it sounded so familiar.

"Hah, that's original," the boy retorted, "Sure my Dad got that like... five times outta ten, when he introduced himself."

"That's half, Rob," John retorted.

"I'm not dumb," Rob shot back. "I just have ADD. Give a guy a break... I have trouble simplifying things because my brain's already jumped to the next topic before I have a chance to think it through all the way."

"You're saying, you, a hunter... and son of a hunter actually had time to get diagnosed with ADD?" John questioned, dryly.

Rob chuckled. "My dad wanted to know why when he said, 'Stay by the car,' I went and followed him instead." He shrugged.

"Mmhmm, and your dad, real modernist, or what?" John asked.

"Nah, he just wanted something better for me than what he got, like most good parents. What about your folks?"

"Don't remember," John said, casually shrugging to set the lie in place. "How 'bout you go back to sleep? I'm too old for midnight chats."

Rob squinted. "You don't remember? How can you not remember what your parents were like?"

"Because," John said patiently, and had the strange, deja-vu sense that he was talking to someone else, for a moment, "I don't remember anything before twenty-odd years ago. I woke up in a hospital--nothing. Blank slate... clean slate, something." Yeah, a clean slate of his own making.

Rob looked suspicious, then blank, then he sank down into the mattress and brought his legs back up again. "'Kay, man. Whatever. 'Night." And he closed his eyes and mumbled, "I'll just lay here and rest my head..."

"Okay," John murmured, thinking Rob was talking to him.

Then realized he wasn't when he hummed the rest of the tune before drifting off...

Was that Metallica? A shiver ran down John's spine.


	3. Where the Wind

* * *

**Three - "Where the Wind"**

Rob woke up with a hangover and remembered the last thing he was drinking... right into the toilet. When he came up for air, he wondered how he'd _gotten_ to the toilet, and wondered how he'd even gotten into this motel. Where the heck _was_ he, again?

He groaned, got up and spat and rinsed in the sink, then hobbled out into the room. There were two rumpled beds... thank God it was two, and not _one_. He didn't need to worry about being drunk enough to sleep with someone. No entanglements. That would be his motto... if he was cheesy enough to have one.

He went over and sat on the closest bed, and rubbed his scruffy hair back and forth. He wondered what his father would have said about the nearly military cut if he could see Rob now...

"Feel like you need an ancient hangover remedy?" a dry voice came to him from the door to the motel. Rob glanced at the stranger, sharply, and cursed himself for not being more alert.

Dad would've thwapped the back of his head for being so inattentive. But then, he'd probably give him some leeway 'cause of the ADHD, and all, too. "You don't knock?" he wondered, and John gave him a look that clearly said, _'It's _my_ motel room, dude.'_

"Feel like some breakfast?" he asked, then, holding up a brown paper bag. Burgers, probably. Rob's stomach turned over.

"Nah... I feel like hurling. You go ahead." He grimaced, and curled up onto his side on the bed.

"Whatever you say," John answered, cheerfully, and sat down on the opposite bed. He started eating, and the smell made Rob turn over so that he was facing away.

"Ughhhhh..."

"I have some medicine in the truck if you need something," John offered. Rob didn't respond, so he tried again, "Asprin? Pepto?"

Rob sat up and glared. "No thanks. I was just leaving." He got up, tried not to make it obvious that he was holding his stomach, and limped toward the door with as much pride as he could muster. He started to open it and was yanked around by John. Man, the guy could look scary when he was seriously mad, not to mention how much of an intimidating factor his gigantic height was.

"Who _are_ you?" John demanded, and Rob went for the crotch. John dodged, and then tried to grab him. Rob knocked his hands away and kicked him in the chest. He ended up losing his balance, though, and falling, and the other hunter crawled over and held him down before he could scramble to the door again.

"Why are you asking who I am?" Rob demanded, "I already _told_ you, you old fart! Get off of me!" He swung with his fists, blindly, and they were caught and pinned to the floor, above his head.

John, straddling his chest, demanded, "Just tell me! I saw the Impala when I was out getting the food! Who the heck are you? And what are you doing with that car?"

Rob froze, face burning. He opened his eyes to stare up at John. "What d'you mean...? Th-That's _my_ car... my d-dad's b-baby... I've had it since he d-died..."

John's deep-blue eyes widened, and he levered himself to the side and plopped down on the floor, leaned his back against the door. "Rob... You gave me a fake last name?"

Rob winced and sat up, scooting away a little, then hugging his knees. "So?" He sounded like an obnoxious, belligerant teenager, even to his own ears.

"What... What is it... then?" the hunter asked, looking his age, for once.

"Winchester. 'Nother gun, for ya," Rob retorted, and John raked his fingers into his hair and left them there. Rob started to wonder what it meant, got nervous, and demanded, "Hey! You gonna tell me what this's all about? Or are you just gonna chick-flick for an hour?"

John looked up sharply, and his eyes were misty, guilt-ridden. "Rob... I knew your father."

"What?" Rob demanded, suspiciously. First the guy told him he didn't remember anything, and now he was saying he'd known Dean Winchester? Last time someone had said that to him, he'd gotten into the car with them only to find out they were a vamp coven, out to draw his father into a trap. He'd learned his lesson. "Why should I believe that?"

He got up, and John followed, making a frustrated sweep with his right arm. "Because!" he shouted. "Because I'm your uncle, kid!"

Rob's mouth dropped open despite himself. Hardly anyone knew... His father had tried to keep that a secret from most people. They'd all known, once upon a time. That Dean Winchester was the son of John Winchester, the brother of Sam Winchester... the guy who was supposed to be some sort of anti-christ.

But he wasn't... he was just a guy who had demon blood in his system. And as soon as Azazel, the yellow-eyed demon, had died, that blood had been made void. No more death-visions, no more leader of a demon-army. Just Sam... the hunter that everybody wanted to hunt.

And so... he'd been forced to kill a couple... or more... hunters. Gordon Walker included... And then he'd gotten killed, stupidly, a car accident--up in flames. And all that he'd left his brother was a stupid bill-holder, with his initials on it, and his laptop. He'd left it at the motel, for some reason.

Even after it broke down, Dad kept it in the trunk. Even though Rob practically hated the man, he couldn't bring himself to throw it away. His father had loved Sam, and he couldn't do something his father wouldn't have wanted him to. So it was still there... junk. Another ghost.

"Great," Rob spat out, "'Cause I've been wanting to tell you something. Why didn't you just take Dad with you when you got yourself killed? 'Cause maybe then I wouldn't ever have been born, and I wouldn't have had to live in your friggin' shadow!"

John--No, _Sam,_ lurched backward a couple steps, mouth slack, more from hurt than shock. This couldn't have been the first time he'd heard of Dean's death, not with the way hunters talked.

He explained, hurt coming through plain in those puppy-dog eyes of his, "I didn't _plan _for it to turn out that way, Rob. I wish I could've told Dean. I wish I could've told him what I was doing, but it wouldn't have worked. He'd have found me, and he'd have promised to make it okay, to protect me." He shook his head, and continued shaking it as he said, "It was the only way. I wasn't just protecting myself, Rob. I was protecting him."

"You selfish jerk," Rob breathed, and then got too lightheaded to stand. Sam jumped forward, catching him under his arms. He brought him over to one of the beds and murmured, "Stupid kid..." Rob chuckled hysterically.

"When was the last time you ate, you idiot? You know that alcohol isn't a food group, don't you?" Sam demanded, and shook Rob by his shoulder's a little to make sure he was listening, apparently.

"Nah... Dad made me stay in school, but the ADD kept me from learning much."

"God," Sam breathed, and sat down across from him. "What's happened to you?"

"God?" Rob wondered. He rubbed his aching temple. "God's the same as always--apathetical."

"That's not a word," his uncle retorted.

"And you're not my Dad!" Rob shouted, and tried to stand up again. He got woozy and sank back down. "So shut the heck up..." he whispered, but his gaze was drifting toward the floor. He started humming "Unforgiven."

"Rob...?" Sam asked, and Rob sniffled and looked up.

"Yeah?" he asked, like he was talking to an old friend. Maybe someone like Uncle Bobby. No, he was talking to a stranger. A stranger that was supposed to have gone evil, but he wasn't, was he? Even though he'd lied through his teeth, his eyes were as innocent as a child's.

"Do you have OCD, too?"

For a second, Rob didn't get it, then he chuckled, and the chuckle turned into a laugh. He winced when it started to split his side. "Ow... ow..." he said, still laughing, although it did sound a little bit like sobbing, too. "No... I, uh... It's just a bad habit." He calmed down a bit, and cleared his throat.

"Why?" Sam asked, looking truly curious, and not like he was trying to pry.

"Don't know, exactly," Rob said, "It was worse when I was a kid. I'd get freaked out and start singing to myself. Dad thought it was funny, at first. He even said he used to hum to himself when he got really freaked. But he stopped laughing when I kept doing it. Guess it can be annoying..."

"Dean... What was he like as a father?" Sam asked, longing in his tone, in the way he leaned forward, in his eyes.

Rob swallowed. "Not terrible. I wish he could've let go of you. I couldn't be you, and he couldn't stop seeing you when he looked at me."

Sam was so quiet for a moment, that Rob thought maybe he was going to demand that he leave, that'd he'd disgraced Dean's name, or something. Instead, he murmured, "God..." then asked, "Rob... who was your _mother_?"

"What? You never heard of the immaculate conception?" Rob asked.

Sam snorted. "You know that's for women, right? Men can't have children, let alone by themselves."

Rob made a face. "Joanna Beth Harvelle."

"Jo?" Sam wondered, eyes going wide. Then he shook his head and murmured, "This is... weird."

"You knew her too?" Rob asked.

"Yeah, her father was a friend of our--Dean and my--dad, and we met her mother later on. But... I think Ellen's either dead or... I don't really know. And... Jo...?" Sam asked, looking pathetically hopeful.

"My mother died a year after I was born," Rob said, "Uncle Bobby says that she was trying to find Dad. She was working alone, and she just wasn't experienced enough." He frowned. "I do okay... I don't see how it could get that dangerous. Dad did it for awhile, before I got old enough to disobey him."

"Jo was... different," Sam replied, with melancholy thoughtfulness, "She wanted to be a hunter so bad but... I don't know, maybe there was just nothing else for her."

Rob nodded, slowly. "Are you... uh, leaving soon?"

Sam shrugged. "Wherever the wind takes me, you know?"

"Right," Rob answered, "So... I'll see you around, then." He started to get up, and Sam rose, swiftly, and caught his arm.

"Robby," he said, and shook his head, "What are you doing?"

"Leaving," Rob shot back, "What's it look like?"

"No," Sam answered, "You're staying. Got it?" And his eyes said it all, just like Dad used to tell him, _"Sammy could look at you with those eyes, and you'd believe everything he said... even if he was lying through his teeth."_


	4. ADD and OCD

**Four - "ADD and OCD"**

"So, uh, whose car are we takin'?" Rob asked, cautiously. He still wasn't feeling too hot, but at least he didn't feel like he was about to regurgitate his intestines, anymore.

They were planning to check out a job that Sam had come to this particular town about. Problem number one though--they both had cars. And testosterone, like Lina had pointed out to him, played a definite part in how men dealt with life.

"You take the Impala..." Sam paused for a moment, a bit too long, and then continued, "And I'll take my truck. We'll both get there. Settled?"

Rob grinned. "Fine by me," he answered, cheerfully, and crossed the street to where he'd left the car in the parking lot of the bar.

Someone had written, "Clean my ugly butt, you oldtimer," in the grime that was gathering on the classic's exterior. Rob didn't think there was one part of the original Impala left, but somehow, the poor thing still managed to look like a junker--some exotic beauty from the past. No, wait... was it Beast? Whatever.

He sighed and rubbed off the slanderous words, then unlocked the door and climbed in. He hadn't been able to eat, and now his stomach decided to growl in protest. One thing was on his mind as he drove to a funeral, their mutual destination. Food. What a way to live...

He'd been to more funerals in his life than he'd been to weddings, and it didn't faze him enough anymore for him to forget about his stomach. The only two funerals he _hadn't_ been to were Uncle Bobby's and his father's, he'd given Uncle Bobby a pyre... and that was it.

Great. He wasn't hungry anymore.

* * *

When Rob got out of the Impala, Sam had to give him a second glance despite himself. He shouldn't, but all he saw was Dean coming out of that car. Rob looked a lot like him, and now that he knew that he was Dean's son, it made sense. He was blond, about five-foot six or seven, a little short for a guy, but not in a frail, weak sort of way. He had that same graceful musculature that Dean had possessed. Everything except for the bow-leggedness... Rob had regular legs... well, actually, if anything, they were a little pidgeon-toed.

Sam wondered where he got that from, and then realized it was probably why he was kind of klutzy. Poor kid... and not just because of the pidgeon-toes. Dean... why'd he go and get Jo pregnant? If he was here, Sam would've clocked him one and called him a jerk. But it was too late for that, so he crossed the lawn to where Rob was uncertainly locking up and closing the car door... another thing that wasn't like Dean. His brother would never have been that cautious. If his baby was in his line of sight, he usually left her unlocked.

"Hey," he said, and Rob started and turned around.

"So... fill me in?" he asked, and cleared his throat.

Sam swallowed, but managed to say pretty levelly, "Widow... we need to talk to her, and anyone else who might know why her husband decided to kill his only child and himself... and not take her out too."

Rob stared for a second or two, and his hazel eyes dilated a bit, before returning to normal. Sam blinked at the change, and asked, "Did you get that?"

"Man, my ADD is _not_ that bad, and what the _heck?_ Who kills their kid and not their wife, too? I thought it was always the whole family!"

"Keep it down," Sam ordered, and grasped Rob's shoulder and pulled him along so that they were making their way along with a few stragglers to the main... event. "That's what _I_ want to know. It seemed like a hunter-kind of thing more than a police kind of thing, so I came."

_'It seems like our kinda job,'_ Dean used to say. Rob gave him a funny look, and Sam realized he hadn't stopped saying it just because Sam had left.

As they drew near to the little gathering, Sam let go of Rob's arm, and the kid gave him the, _'It's about time,'_ glare. The only reason Sam had kept holding on was because he was afraid his nephew was going to trip and fall on his face. He looked peaked, and that plus the not-eating, and the pidgeon-toed-ness... well, it was just a bad mixture, that was all.

_'Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Sammy,'_ a voice said in his ear, and Sam wished that he could just eject it from his brain like an old casette tape. Timber, inflection, expression... it was all still there, like a ghost in his peripheral vision. _''Cause you're so good at letting go...'_

They waited through the preacher's sermon, then when the crowd started to break apart, they descended like vultures on the dead. "Mrs. Dresdin," Sam began, intercepting the poor woman in the middle of her wilting exit. "I'm John, and this is my nephew, Rob. I worked with your husband." Sam knew that the deceased had been a social worker, so it wouldn't be that inconceivable for his wife not to have met all the people he'd known on the job.

"Did you... know Alex well?" she asked, and Sam answered, quickly, "I worked with him on a case once or twice."

She nodded and sniffled, causing her friend to pat her arm and depart. Sam glanced at Rob, trying to tell him to go after her with eye movements, but Rob was oblivious. He was concentrating so completely on Charlotte Dresdin's face that Sam almost thought her lipstick was on her teeth, and glanced back to check.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Sam said, to keep the conversation flowing, "It's... I can't imagine what you're going through. I just... he seemed so normal. Do you have any idea what would have caused him... to...?"

She lifted a kleenex-fisted hand to her face, and shook her head, remaining silent in order to keep the tears at bay. Rob put a hand on her arm, and murmured, "It's okay. You just cry, all right?" She nodded, once, and collapsed into the kid's arms.

Sam stared at him, half-outraged and half-confused. What was he thinking, setting her off like that? If she was crying her guts out, how was she supposed to give them any useful information? But after a moment, she settled down, and Rob let her go enough so that she could step back and dab at her face.

He let go of her arms, and she said, "I don't know what happened... He was fine... and then, I go to work, and come back... and..." She sniffled, paused long enough to regain her composure, then continued, "I don't know what made him... snap. But something must have _happened_!" She gazed at them with urgent, pleading eyes, "Alex was a good man, compassionate, gentle... especially with Colby." She shook her head, and murmured, "I'm sorry, please excuse me..." And hurried away.

Sam turned to Rob, planning to ask him why he'd set her off like that, and lost his train of thought when he saw how green around the gills his nephew looked. "Rob?" he questioned, sharply, and caught his shoulder. "You need to sit down?"

Rob half-whispered, half-hummed another tune from a Metallica song.

"'Robert,'" Sam snapped, and the boy's eyes refocused.

"Sam... I'm not... feeling too great. Let's get outta here... okay?" he wavered, and Sam snaked an arm around the young man's shoulders and led him back to his truck.

He helped him in the passenger side, saying, "We'll come back for the Impala later. You're too sick to drive right now. Besides, I don't think Dean'd appreciate you wrecking the his car... again."

Rob snorted, but slid into place and started tugging on the seatbelt. He failed in getting the strap to pull out far enough, so Sam clicked it into place for him and shut the door on his protest, "I'm not a baby!"

"So stop acting like one," Sam retorted, as he got in on the driver's side. "We're stopping at a restaurant before we go take a look at the crime scene."

"Don't bother," Rob answered, "I know which demon we're dealing with."

"What?" Sam demanded, stopped backing out of his parking spot, and turned his attention from the rearview mirror to Rob's pale face.

"It's the _Erlkonig_," Rob said, "Children-stealing, pied-piper of Hamelin."

Sam scoffed. "Are you kidding?"

"Do I look like I'm telling a joke?" Rob wondered, dryly. "You sound a lot like my Dad, you know that? Sheesh, obstinance must run in the family. Oh... yeah... I'm part of the family. Darn. I'm doomed for sure."

"Focus, Rob," Sam retorted, and drew away from the curb, "Tell me all you know about the _Erkonig_."

"The _Herleking, _Middle English, _Herla cyning,_ Old English, King Herla, a mythical figure identified with Woden. It's where the word 'harlequin' comes from. And it's not a coincidence that some picture books depict the Pied Piper as wearing a diamond patterned outfit."

Sam itched to smack the kid, and realized this was probably how Dean had felt every time he went off into a highly technical rant. "_Who_ is King Herla?"

Rob groaned, and started smacking himself on the forehead. Sam's eyes widened, but he was distracted by his nephew's strained reply, "He's the leader of the Wild Hunt. We are _so_ not getting involved with this... are we?" he finished, faintly, and Sam grabbed his wrist to keep him from bashing in his own brains.

"How is it possible for the demon to be both the Pied Piper and the leader of the Wild Hunt?"

"I don'know... like... things like that happen, man," Rob said, and began to hit his temple with his right hand, instead.

"Stop it," Sam growled, "Why are you hitting your own head, anyway? You're not a five-year-old, you should be past this stage already."

"I _have_ ADD, Sam!" Rob shot back, "I need to do _something_ to concentrate!"

"Shoot," Sam murmured, and let go of Rob's wrist to turn the car down another street. "Are you _serious_?"

"Ugh... that question again... I'm so serious, I'm practically in the grave," Rob said, "And stop distracting me! I was explaining _something_ to you before you interrupted..."

"Herla. The Piper. How are they connected?" Sam reiterated, so the poor kid could at least have something to go on.

"Uh..." Rob said, and stopped smacking himself, started squinting and biting his bottom lip instead. As if it wasn't already full enough without adding swelling to it, too. "Herla... and the Piper are the same because the... the legend of the pied piper originates from the legend of the wild hunt. The wild hunt goes around collecting souls that have the misfortune of crossing its path on a spooky night. Well, the pied piper just went to go collect a few souls without the aid of his horse and hound... which, by the way, hasn't alighted yet."

Sam blinked. The kid was really mystifying. But if he was right about the demon being King Herla, or whatever the heck his real name was, they were definitely in over their heads.


	5. Herl King

* * *

**Five - "Herl King"**

It was really weird how Sam just trusted him like that.

For all he knew, Rob could be spinning a yarn, but the older man just swallowed the story like the gospel truth. Rob wasn't trying to lie when he said it, but sometimes, when he was really messed up, like he happened to be at the moment, he'd say things just to make it start making sense again.

And sometimes, those things didn't actually happen to be the complete truth.

Like with the Pied Piper and King Herla. A part of it was true, and a part of it wasn't. The part about the King, well... it was true in myth. And so was the part about the Piper. But how it actually tied into reality was where Rob had skimped on the details.

As he rested his aching head on the window of Sam's truck, he remembered his father, remembered when he'd last seen him...

* * *

"Baby, a father should never have to outlive his kid," Dean said, and encircled Rob's wrist with his strong, slightly fat fingers. If he'd just taken care of himself, watched what he'd eaten... if he'd just cared enough about his own health to live just a bit longer... maybe they wouldn't be standing at a crossroads right now, preparing to say goodbye.

"Dad..." Rob sobbed, tears streaming down his face. He grabbed onto the sleeve of Dean's jacket and begged, "Dad, don't do this... just let me die in a couple years... Dad..."

Dean shook him. Hard. Enough to make his teeth click together. He cried but didn't protest, anymore. "Listen to me, baby, it's gonna be okay." He let go of Rob, knelt down on the old, dirt road, and dug up the spot Rob had buried his box in just the other night.

He pulled out Rob's picture... the one he kept in his wallet from when he'd graduated high school. Dad had been so proud... He lit the contents of the box on fire, and then started chanting something over the picture that sounded vaguely like Gaelic. Rob heard galloping, and turned to look in every direction.

He didn't see anything coming, but he could still hear hoofbeats and the sound of dogs, howling. "D-Dad...?"

Dean grinned up at him. "It's the Wild Ride," he said, practically through his teeth, and started to get to his feet again. Rob helped him up, and swiped the back of his sleeve across his face.

"What'd'you mean?" he questioned, and Dean ruffled his hair, and smiled with his mouth closed, this time.

"I love you, babe. Take care."

The dogs showed up first--big and black, and wraith-like, with glowing, gold eyes and foaming mouths. The black mounts came next, and a little grey hound leaped from the top of the biggest, meanest looking horse. The horse's eyes were red, and steam shot from its nostrils like smoke. It stamped its spike-shod hooves, as it came to a halt in front of his father.

Rob stumbled backward in fear and landed on the ground. The shadowy, horned-helmet figure on the stallion leapt from the horse just as it gave a whinny, like a dying screetch and reared back, beating its legs at the air in defiance. The figure clothed in darkness laughed and unfurled his cape, until it had come around again... until it was a mixture of reds and yellows... a dizzying pattern of diamonds... and then he disappeared.

"Dad!" Rob screamed and staggered to his feet. But as the nightmare stallion's feet hit the ground, he realized Dean was gone from the earth and sitting in the creature's place.

His eyes were lost in shadow, and there was a lunatic grin on his face... "Dad! No! _Daaaad!_" The horse thundered past him, and Rob whipped around and tried to chase after. A hoof caught him in the back, and he hit the ground, chin-first. He saw stars, tasted blood, and the last thing he heard, before blacking out, was the sound of familiar, but eerie laughter.

* * *

Rob woke up with a jolt, like his heart had slammed against his chest, or something. He glanced over at Sam, guiltily, and realized the truck had stopped, and his uncle was getting out. "Hey... where are we?" he called, and fumbled for his belt buckle then the door handle. He hopped down, and managed to twist his ankle somehow. He hung onto the door, and Sam reached him and helped him regain his balance.

"Maybe you should wear corrective shoes, or something," he said, sympathetically, and Rob glared at him in irritation.

"What are you talking about?" he wondered.

"You're pigeon-toed... Didn't you notice?" Sam glanced at him, uneasily. "It's what's making you trip all the time."

Honestly, Rob's turned-in feet weren't the only things making him trip, lately.

"Great, everybody's a critic," he misused the phrase. "Where are we?"

"Restaurant," Sam answered, and slammed the passenger door, as Rob moved out of the way.

"I'm not even hungry," he complained.

"Well, I _am_," Sam retorted, "Plus, I'm an old, crotchety man, so what I say goes."

Rob had to chuckle at that one, and followed Sam inside the country-style restaurant. They sat down, and a waitress showed up to take their order. He tried to tell her he wasn't eating, but Sam ignored him and ordered something for him, anyway.

"I'm not hungry," he said through his teeth.

"You're skin and bones," Sam shot back.

"I'm a healthy weight."

"You look pale... even for a dumb blond."

"Did you just call me--" Rob began to demand, when he heard the bell to the door chime. He froze, turned, his eyes widened. A chill sent a skittering of goosebumps up his arms.

It was just a family... little boy, with a buzz cut, bobbing ahead of his tired-looking parents.

"Rob...?" Sam questioned, voice a tad bit on the sharp side, and his eyes came back front and center.

"What?"

"You were zoning--big time."

"Get used to it," Rob snarked back.

Their food arrived a few minutes later, and Rob grouched, "I told you I didn't want anything. You eat it..."

"Heck, no," Sam retorted, "It's your food. And you'd better scarf some of it down, or I'm gonna start to think you're anorexic, or something."

Rob was silent a little too long. "No..." Sam said, catching the tension. "Rob--"

"I'm not!" He shifted in his seat, uncomfortably though. "I just don't... have an apetite..."

"Eat something, please," Sam cajoled, and Rob started to feel guilty and irritated at the same time.

"It looks disgusting." It was fish and fries... with coleslaw on the side.

"Eat it, or I'm going to take you outside and beat you," Sam threatened, without much conviction. "Meanwhile, I'll be checking to see if you go to the bathroom to heave it all up again, afterward."

"Sam!" He was _not_ bulemic. "Sheesh, a guy's honest about his ADD, and people think he's got every other disease in the book." He picked up a fish stick and took a tentative bite.

His stomach almost revolted, but he managed to stabalize it by chewing slowly. When was the last time he'd eaten, anyway? Mostly, he'd been drinking, he realized. So maybe... a week ago?

"You look like you're gonna be sick," Sam commented, not without sympathy.

"Possibly," he replied. "I may have forgotten to eat for awhile."

"How long?" Sam wondered, looking annerved.

"A week... tops," he replied, and lost his attention when the door chimed again. He turned to look, less nervously than before, but froze with the fish stick halfway to his mouth.

There stood a girl, long, gorgeous brown hair, golden eyes, a smile that found him and sliced him through to his center. She was wearing punk clothes, and the fingerless mittens she wore had a yellow and red, diamond pattern.

"Rob... you're humming again," Sam told him. How could he be humming, though? He couldn't even remember how to breathe.

Sam followed Rob's gaze, and saw a girl. She was in her twenties, a brunette, wearing young rocker-type clothes. The red and yellow diamond pattern of her wrist-warmers was especially striking. Something clicked in his brain then, but before he could form it into a thought and ask Rob, her eyes turned pitch-black for a second or two.

She was possessed... Which meant this wasn't just any demon--it was _the_ demon. The Herl King.

"Rob, you know this thing better'n I do--what'd'we do?"

"I-I-I don't..." Rob was freaking, which wasn't good. The woman drew closer, and Sam dug in his pocket for some cash, tossed it on the table, grabbed his nephew's arm and hauled his butt out of the restaurant, right around the chick, who whipped around and scowled at them as they went.

She thought she'd had them cornered, but it wasn't a good idea to try and corner someone in public. If she followed them, she'd look guilty. And Sam wasn't sure if she cared, but apparently, she wanted to keep her anonymity in tact.

"Hey," he said, when they got outside and back in his truck. "Hey, you okay?"

Rob looked majorly sick, but instead of nodded, he reached for the door handle, mumbling, "We need to go back in there... that family..."

Sam remembered the family that had walked into the restaurant, earlier, the one that had caught Rob's attention. Oh, crap...

The Herl King went after families.


	6. Ghosts

**Six - "Ghosts"**

"Rob," he snapped, and ran around to the other side of the truck, where the kid was just then lurching down to the ground. "No, just stay. We can't go in there. Are you crazy?" he demanded, and shook his nephew a bit.

Rob gasped and retorted, "She's gonna kill them, Sam... You can't just make me stay out here and let that happen!"

"She's not gonna do it in a public restaurant," Sam retorted, "We'll wait out here and see where she goes, okay?"

Green eyes flickered, and then the kid sagged a little and whimpered. "My stomach hurts," he complained, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"What? You wanna go back in there to get the food you didn't even want in the first place?"

"You shouldn't have made me eat it," Rob grouched, and then turned to clamber back into the truck.

Sam went around and got in too. He rolled down his window and killed the engine. "Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine," Rob snapped, and Sam wondered, "Is there anything you've been keeping from me? Like maybe... oh, how you knew it was the Herl King without having to see her eyes go black?"

Rob stared out his window, eyes glued to the restaurant's door. "I saw her once, a year ago. That's how I knew... about the families. This isn't the first time she's done it. She always goes after the same type--father, mother, one child."

"You saw her?" Sam prompted.

"Yeah," Rob whispered, then cleared his throat and said more loudly, "I was nineteen, and I thought I could... I thought I was ready. I wasn't. I tried to cast a spell, one to send her back to where she belonged, but it didn't work. She... cut me..." He turned a little, but still watched the window, and shrugged out of his jacket and pulled up the one layer of shirt covering his left arm. There was a ribbon of lines encircling it, like thin, whitish-pink bracelets.

"God..." Sam murmured, and Rob quickly pushed the sleeve of his plaid shirt down again, and shrugged back into his jacket.

"The only reason I survived was because of Uncle Bobby. I think I would've bled to death if he hadn't showed up and scared her off."

"How'd he do that?" Sam asked, voice a little husky, in light of Bobby's recent death.

"Irish spell," Rob said, and just then the door to the restaurant opened, and the couple and their son came walking out. Sam started the engine, and a minute later, the Herl King proceeded them.

He stared, fascinated and horrified, as she seemed to shift into a swirl of shadowy diamonds, disappear, then emerge a few spaces farther along. "Hurry," Rob said, eyes wide, and Sam followed the couple's car as it pulled out into the street. He nearly lost his grip on the wheel when he saw the swirl of diamonds one last time, appearing just over the roof of the car, on the driver's side. It entered the car, and Sam couldn't see it through the rear windshield.

"It possessed the father," Rob said, and he was leaning forward, both hands gripping the dashboard, until his knuckles had gone white.

"Rob, do you remember that spell Bobby used?"

"I-I," Rob stammered, and shook his head, fiercely, "I don't know... It's in my journal--my journal's in the Impala. Sam, go to the Impala!"

Sam swore, and wondered, "Are you kidding me? If we don't follow, we don't know where these people end up, then how are we gonna save them?"

"I don't know!" Rob exclaimed, voice rising in pitch to the point that Sam gave him a double-take. "Leave me with them, and get my journal," he finished, more calmly. "I'll do what I can until you show up."

"You are crazy," Sam retorted, "How can you think you're going to fare any better than you did the last time you went up against this thing?"

"I can try, can't I?" his nephew wondered, harshly, and then asked, in a helpless, broken tone, "Just... trust me, okay, Sam?"

Sam heard Dean in the kid's voice, and started to cave. Otherwise, he'd never have considered it. He'd been thinking they'd see where the people lived and then go get the journal. But that tone, that look, they were sucking him right in... just like always.

* * *

As soon as Sam dropped him off at the folks' house, Rob knew he was being a foolhardy idiot, and wished he could run after the truck and jump in, drive away with Sam and never go near Herla again. Instead, he snuck around to the back of the house, went into the backyard and checked for dogs.

There was a lone cat, sitting on the back patio, but nothing more. It ran off, when he snuck up to the sliding, glass doors. He looked through, and saw that the doors led into the living room, and that the family was just then entering. The man said something to his wife, hugged her and kissed her, and she left the opposite way.

He was getting rid of her... Rob's heart sped up, and he tried to open the glass door and realized it was locked. Hands shaking like crazy, he reached down into his jacket pocket and got out his pocket knife, flipped it open and tried to insert it into the crack between the door and the jamb. But his hand was shaking so much that the knife was hitting the glass and then the jamb. He kept glancing up to see what was going on. One moment, the father was talking to the boy, and smiling at him in that freaky way the Herla had, and the next he was holding a long rope of fiery energy in his hand. He advanced toward the boy, and the boy backed away, disbelief in his innocent eyes.

Rob swore, gritted his teeth, and in one move, stuck the knife in the crack and swiped it down, causing the lock to flip out of place. "Get the heck away from him."

The black eyes found his, and the rope came flicking out, catching Rob against his shoulder. He'd managed to jump out of the way just in time to keep from losing his head. Literally. But now he was on the floor, holding his shoulder and biting his lip to keep from moaning.

"Who the heck do you think you are?" the Herla hissed, in a voice that was smokey and vibrant, all at once. The boy cried and ran past them into the house. Good, at least that gave him time... if Sam didn't make it, right away.

"I'm Rob Winchester," he said, and the thing inside the man laughed.

"Winchester... that sounds so familiar," he said, and then laughed derisively. "_I_ remember you!" it exclaimed, "Your father took my place didn't he? Only, last time I saw you, weren't you a little _girl_?" It laughed, and Rob gritted his teeth. "No matter," it continued, "Girl or boy, you're about to be dead meat in a minute." It snapped the whip down and then raised it to bring it down on Rob, and then a strong, confident voice filled the room.

He looked and saw Sam, reading from his journal, standing tall, no fear... Rob remembered his father standing like that. And he was determined to live long enough to see him like that again. So while Herla was distracted, he rushed him and knocked him to the ground.

The demon escaped from the body and Rob scrambled to his feet. "You little _witch_," she hissed at Rob, "I'm going to rend you hair to nails!" She raised her hand and the whip appeared again, but just as she got ready to fling it out, Sam finished chanting.

She turned toward him, dark eyes wide, and then screamed and disappeared in a flurry of red and yellow diamonds.

Rob sank to the floor, on his knees. Faintly, he heard Sam snap the journal shut and stuff it under his jacket. "Come on, kid," he said, and came to gather Rob up. "Let's get you out of here."

"The boy..." Rob contradicted, faintly, but Sam just hauled him away. "He's fine. His dad will wake up and find him."

"He'll think he's a monster..." Rob argued.

Sam pulled him over to the truck, parked on the curb, opened the passenger door and shoved him in. "He'll know," he said quietly, before going around the front to get in.

* * *

Sam had entered the house just in time to hear the demon calling Rob a girl. At first, he'd thought it was just a simple insult, and then when she called him a "witch" too, he realized she meant the sex _literally._

"Rob..." he said, driving slowly down the street. "That thing called you a girl..."

"You heard that?" Rob wondered, tiredly, and rubbed a hand over his hair.

Sam noticed the wrist, the scars peeking out from underneath, but most of all, how thin the arm looked... underneath all those layers of clothing, how skinny was the kid, anyway? "What did she mean, exactly?"

Rob was silent for a long time, then finally he spoke, softly, avoiding Sam's eyes. "She meant that I'm a girl... because I am."

Sam almost hit the breaks. "No wonder you're so freakin' short." Rob snorted. "What the heck is your real name?"

"Does it matter?" he--no _she_ asked him in that voice that had caught him by surprise more than a few times now. Now he could understand how a twenty-year-old man could still sound like a teenager--because he wasn't a man. "You're just gonna end up calling me 'Rob', anyway. I need to keep my disguise."

"Is that what it is?" Sam questioned, and then shook his head. "_Why_?"

"Because I'm five-foot six and then some, weigh almost nothing, and guys think I'm beyond hot," she answered, dryly, "I'm protecting myself. It's better than having to fend off every jerkoff who thinks he's got the right to fondle me just 'cause I have boobs."

"Whoa," Sam said, "Too much information, there."

"Sorry," Rob answered, and Sam was silent for awhile. They'd nearly reached the motel, when he asked again, "So, you gonna tell me your name?"

"You really want to know?" she asked, and he gave her the look.

She shrugged, and looked off through the window. "Anna."


	7. Wild Hunt

**Seven - "Wild Hunt"**

"After Joanna?" he asked, quietly, when they'd entered the motel, and she flinched.

"My mother named me," she answered, almost defensively, "She thought the more feminine diminutive might keep me from walking in my family's footsteps."

"Guess it didn't really help, did it?" Sam asked, wearily, and practically fell onto one of the beds.

Rob--Anna stood with her back against the door, looking drained. "Maybe it would've if she hadn't died. Who knows... Maybe it's just in my blood."

He shook his head and let out a small, unhappy chuckle. She closed her eyes and then opened them, drew a long, shakey breath and came to sit on the other bed. She was _trying_ to walk like a guy, and _that's_ what had been making her trip, he realized now, and he chuckled harder.

"Oh, God..." he said, through his laughter, and she eyed him warily. "Please, do me a favor...?"

"What?" she retorted suspiciously.

"Just be yourself, okay? I'm around now, so you can just drop the act. It doesn't work for you, anyway." He smiled, and she scowled for a little bit before relaxing and smiling uncertainly, too.

He saw Dean again, and shook his head, whispering, "And you keep reminding me of him..."

She stared, looking as if she was going to bite some sort of comment back at him, then it vanished, replaced by a resigned sort of peace. "Maybe I don't look like either of you. You two are just obsessed with each other. Men."

"What do you mean?" he wondered, and she shrugged.

"Dad was constantly saying I looked like you, and now you're saying I look like him. I think I'm gonna to rely on Uncle Bobby, though. He said I acted like Dean and looked more like my mother."

"You look like Dean," Sam said, adamantly, and she chuckled.

He rolled his eyes at himself and shrugged. "I guess you're right."

"Of course I'm right."

He laughed again, thinking that Bobby had hit the nail on the head. Then he realized they couldn't just keep sitting here, reminiscing. That thing had nearly killed another family and included his niece in the package. They needed to do something about it before it decided to find itself some other victims.

"Does you journal have anything else about the Herla?" he asked, and withdrew the leather-bound book from his jacket.

Anna shrugged. "No, it's... yeah, a little. I wrote down a whole bunch surrounding the whole fairytale of King Herla. And..." She stood and took it from him, and started flipping through the pages. "And... some other ones related to it, like Tam Lin."

"Tam Lin?" Sam wondered, some memory tickling the back of his mind.

"Yeah," she replied, and there was that not-quite meeting of his eyes again, as she sat back down. "He was supposed to be the leader of the Wild Hunt in another version of the story."

Then Sam remembered. Back when he was at Stanford, he'd taken a Literature class... Tam Lin was saved by a woman he fell in love with, by jumping off of his horse into her arms. But he warned her that the queen of the fairies would try to trick her into dropping him by turning him into different animals. Finally, she'd turned him into a coal, but still the woman had held on, and he'd been saved from being the leader of the Wild Hunt forever.

"Do you think..." Sam began, and then reacting to her averted gaze, demanded, "Is Dean still alive?"

She shook her head, didn't look up, flipped another page of the book. Brokenly, she said, "I... don't know, sir. He said a spell... I still haven't been able to hunt it down, and... the thing switched places with him. I saw Dad," she said, and looked up at him, lower lip trembling, "Right before he rode away. He wasn't the same... he looked insane..."

Sam's fingers dug into the mattress on either side of him. "He's still alive..." he said, half to himself. "Maybe there's something to the Tam Lin--" He stopped himself, when she looked away, and reached up to swipe at her tears. "What is it?"

"I lied," she said, and somehow, it didn't suprise him. The girl was a walking white-lie. "I told you I tried to cast a spell to get rid of the Herlkonig. I didn't. I tried to bring my father back. I tried to make them switch places again."

"But the story," Sam said, quietly, thoughtfully, "Tam Lin was there... Dean wasn't there when you cast that spell, was he?"

She shook her head, looked at him, carefully. "You think if we could find him...?"

"Let me take a look at that spell," he ordered, and held out his hand for the journal.

She swallowed, looked down at it, then up at him again, then handed it over, still open to the place she'd turned it to. Sam looked down and read from the middle of the page.

_"...maybe I can bring Dad back... maybe he's not completely gone. Maybe there's something left of him. I have to believe that... or there's not gonna be anything left of _me._ I'll try the spell. I know where the Herla will show up now. If it doesn't work, at least I can keep it from hurting another family."_

Sam glanced up at her, and asked, "Then Bobby showed up?"

She nodded, jaw clenched--some of her old, Rob-demeanor showing through, (or maybe that was actually just another part of her). "He sent her away with the spell you used." She'd kept it conveniently at the front of the journal. "And then rushed me to the emergency room. They said I nearly lost the arm, and I think maybe Uncle Bobby called someone in... you know, to fix it a little."

Sam's brows went up. "I don't know about that. Dean and I used to think there wasn't a real healer out there. Do you remember someone coming?"

She shook her head. "Nah... I had nightmares about snakes, biting me, and one about a black horse that tried to trample me. I put up my arm, and he chomped down on it. And other wacked-out stuff, like that." She grinned, and Sam thought maybe his heart would stop.

At the same time that he saw Dean, he saw Jo, and it was disconcerting and heartbreaking, and he wasn't sure if he could handle it for another second. "Look... I'm... gonna go get some take-out and stop at the library. You stay put, okay?"

He stood, and handed back her journal. She took it, uncertainly, and demanded, "Why can't I go with you?"

"Because you look like death-warmed-over," he retorted. "Get some sleep, or something. By the way, I had to break into the Impala... Dean would kill me, but I managed not to break the window."

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he wondered if he was ever going to get past the likeness. "What'd you do to her?"

"Jimmied the door," he replied, and started to head out. He tossed over his shoulder, at her groan, "It's okay, I locked it back up when I left."

"You put a scratch on her, didn't you?" she called after him, but he was already stepping outside. When he closed the door, he was suprised to find a mischievous grin plastered on his face. God, did that feel weird. When was the last time he'd smiled like this?

Heck, did it matter? It just felt freakin' good.

* * *

The problem with Sam was, he didn't know she _couldn't_ sit still. Growing up, Dean and Anna had learned a little bit about ADD. They hadn't gone to a doctor, like she'd claimed, but they'd done internet and library research. And really, ADD was just another way of saying ADHD. Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder.

Which was why she was heading down the street, on foot. She was just going to go to the Impala and bring it back to the motel, and then she was going to come back and put salt-lines around--

Up ahead, she saw the shimmering in and out of little, golden-red diamonds. She balked, going cold down to her toes, and started to turn to run. But when she did, she found herself face to face with the rocker-girl from before.

The demon smiled maliciously, and reached out a hand, and Anna jumped back. She crouched low, and snatched the iron-bladed knife that was attached to the back of her boot, and came back up in a knife-pointed lunge toward the spectre. In lore, iron was said to repell fairy creatures. She didn't expect it to work... just hoped it might buy her some time.

She fell through blood and lost souls screaming, and ended up scraping a palm against the pavement to keep herself upright. She kept moving, bringing herself around to face her opponent, and saw that the Herla had turned and was sneering at her, long, red whip already in her hand.

"Did you think you could touch me?" she wondered, "With human hands alone?"

"I thought I'd try," Anna said, speaking out of bravado and faith, not reality. Dad had always told her not to let them see her sweat. Never let the enemy see her tired or afraid. Sometimes it worked...

"You're shuddering now, just wait until I separate your hand from your arm."

Sometimes it didn't.

* * *

Sam realized how stupid he'd been to leave her alone, when he got back with food and a printout of the Tam Lin story. He was planning to suggest to Anna that he'd call up someone who knew more about the spell she'd used, but when he opened the unlocked door, ready to chew her out for leaving it that way, he saw that she was gone.

Out of desperate stupidity, he checked the bathroom, just to make sure. He wished she had a cell, and then realized there was only one place she would have wanted to go. To get the car.

* * *

"Just wait until my daddy shows up to kick your butt," Anna hissed, in return, and the Herla laughed.

"You think he even _cares_ anymore?" she wondered, and walked to the side, as if she planned to circle Anna, like an animal closing in for the kill. Anna turned in place, keeping her in front, as she paced, the small knife raised in front of her, and the other hand up, defensively. "He doesn't even _remember_ you."

Anna remembered the agony of skin being sliced down to the muscle, past veins, nearly to the bone. Those words cut almost as bad. "What would _you_ know? Did you ever have a father? Mine _always_ showed up when I needed him. Could you say the same?"

It laughed again, and Anna jerked in reaction. "I don't remember my father. If I ever had one, in the first place." She sneered. "Haven't I proven my point quite well?" And she struck out with the whip...

Anna turned just in time to avoid losing her eye, but it still hit her, like before, this time across the back. She whimpered and went down, but started saying the binding spell. She'd been smart enough to memorize it, after the first time, but the fear had prevented her from remembering it, earlier. Now preservation instinct had kicked in, and she spoke the words in a trembling voice...

_'I'm going to die... this night, aren't I?'_ that part of her that was "Rob" asked her, and she had to admit through her brave facade, _'Yeah. I think so.'_

"You little witch!" the being screetched, and snapped the whip down. And the whip twisted around Anna's back and cut into her side.

She screamed, but over it, she heard something--something coming from far off. It was galloping.


	8. Valley of the Shadow

**A/N:** Some interesting and useless information: Anna comes from the Hebrew name "Hannah", which means "favored grace." Hannah was the name of the mother of the prophet, Samuel. (I honestly didn't realize, or I probably would've changed it.)

* * *

**Eight - "Valley of the Shadow"**

Sam sped up to the curb, killed the engine and came out, gun already drawn. He emptied a few rounds into the creature. It wasn't even corporeal, but the consecrated iron did its job. The thing screamed bloody murder and vanished into a flurry of diamonds, reappearing a few paces down the sidewalk from where Anna lay.

She was bleeding from her back and her side, and the leather jacket she was wearing was sliced cleanly around the wound. Sam ran up to her, and shot a few more rounds into the Herl King. He fumbled Anna's journal out of his jacket, one handed, and flipped the cover open. He said the spell, and the thing rushed at him like sparks of red and gold. He shot it again, and kept right on speaking.

Finally, it was gone, and he put the automatic away and knelt down to check on Anna. He touched her back, and his hand came away dripping blood. "Aw... no... Anna..."

She was breathing, but barely, and when he lifted her into his arms, and stood, he saw by the street lamps that she was beyond pale, and her lips were starting to turn blue...

He put her in the passenger seat and strapped her in. He wasn't going to let her die, he vowed to himself and the ghost at his shoulder. Even if he had to make the same mistake Dean had. Because mistakes that involved saving the ones you loved--they weren't really mistakes, at all. They were sacrifices.

* * *

"Dad," she said, and the horse her father was seated on whinnied eerily and stamped its dagger-sharp, blood-covered hooves. Dean reigned it in, and asked her, in a voice that was far too normal for a man dressed all in black, and riding a demon stallion, "What'd you do to your hair?"

"I cut it... it's a disguise," she said, and tears rolled off her chin. "You came back."

"No, babe," he told her, sadly, "I can't get down from Mr. Ed, here. Faster than the Impala, but he aint as nice. Listen, Anna, I don't have much time. You have to do something, if you want me back. And it sounds crazy, but you'll understand when you get back to Sammy."

She was _already_ confused. "What is it?"

"Say my true name to that diamond-freak."

_The horse reared and screamed..._

Anna gasped, and opened her eyes a moment later. She was lying in a hospital bed, wrapped up like a Christmas present, fuzzy all over, and her uncle sitting beside the bed, dozing. "Sam...?" she called to him, and his head came up.

He opened his eyes, and asked, "Anna?"

"Guess the docs weren't fooled when you told them I was a guy?" she replied, dryly.

He clasped her hand. "They weren't sure whether you'd make it." He frowned. "Apparently, you were already weak from the starvation."

"What'd you say?" she wondered, since she'd been looking around, instead of listening to him.

"You need to eat something, idiot," he clarified, and released her hand.

"Oh... that." She took a breath, felt pain dully, through the meds. "Uncle Sa--Hm. That's not gonna work. Sam, I saw my father. He said to tell you that we should call the Herla by _his_ true name, next time we see it."

Sam's brows went up. "Are you sure that wasn't just a hallucination?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure," she joked. "I almost died--how could I be wrong?"

"You really saw him?" Sam questioned, and she nodded.

"He said I'd know when I got back to you, but it doesn't make any more sense than it did when I was dreamin'."

"Maybe it was just a dream," Sam told her, cautiously, and she would've bitten his head off if she didn't know how much he didn't want to have to say it.

"I hope not," she told him, instead, voice not quite what it should be. She cleared her throat. "Because how are we going to stop the Herla for good? And if it wasn't him, somehow, I'll--_We'll_ never get Dad back."

Sam smiled, sadly, but he nodded in agreement. "Okay... But do you have any idea what a true name is? Or what Dean's true name is?"

"A true name, according to Irish myth, is the secret name of something or someone. If you know it, then you have power over that thing or person. And they practically could be your slave, after that."

She didn't like the idea of her father being a slave, but wasn't that sort of what he was? Forever chained to a demon-steed that roamed the earth, looking for the damned, and meting out whatever form of punishment he thought they deserved? She shivered, and Sam touched her arm.

"Are you okay? Do you need more meds?"

"No... it's just... I don't want him to be lost forever, Sam. I want my daddy back, you know?" She looked him in the eyes, even though hers were filling with tears and blurring her vision.

He squeezed her arm before releasing it, and said, "We're not gonna let that happen, okay? I saved him from Hell once, and I'll do it again..." He grinned at her, and added, "With your help."

* * *

He wasn't about to let Anna leave the hospital, but he knew from experience how much she needed to feel involved. The problem was, he sort of did need her physical help. If he went up against the Herla again, he wanted some solid back-up. But the doctors would be extra ticked if she got up and pulled out all that painstakingly extensive stitching. And really, there weren't words for how angry Dean might be to discover he'd been brought back from the afterlife, only to have to see his daughter into it.

So he told her to stay put, made her _promise_ she wouldn't leave the hospital bed, and went to the library so that he could learn what the meaning of Dean's name was. He had a feeling it wasn't going to be a literal meaning, but he had to start somewhere.

He got online and searched a random Baby Name website, until he found out that Dean meant "Valley," and he really should've known that, but somehow it'd slipped his mind. It was easy enough to find, but he had to Google "Winchester" since it was a surname. The "-chester" part meant "Roman fort or walled city." But the "win," which was said to come from _venta_, a "Romano-British word of disputed origin", he had to do another search for. Another site asserted that it might mean something like "local center" as in a town, or main place where people went for trade and selling, like a capital city, of sorts.

He tucked it all away in his memory, which was still nearly photographic after all these years, thinking that it was useless information. Interesting, but useless. And if he went up against the Herl King with it, he was going to get knocked down in a second flat. He needed a backup.

But Anna was out of the question. So he needed to call someone in, only, last time he'd seen the one person he knew he could count on, they'd pretty much had a falling out. Which meant, he was going to have to do a little grovelling.

* * *

Michaela tossed another card on top of one of the messy piles accumulating on the motel bed's coverlet, yawned and then reached over to pop another Chex mix snack into her mouth. She really needed a drink of soda... or beer, or _something_ but she was far too lazy and sleepy for that by now. Just a few more non-games of solitaire, and she'd go to bed.

Dang the off-season of hunting. Dang it to--

Her cell rang, and she dropped the cards like they were fire, and snatched it up, flipping it open before she even looked at the Caller ID.

"Conrad, here," she said, a bit too eagerly.

"It's John," the voice on the other end spoke, and she kicked herself, mentally.

"What do you want?" she grumbled, and he replied, "Just listen, please. I know our... I know it wasn't your fault. It was me. It's _always_ been me. And I'm not trying to get back together with you, but--"

"You need my help, I get it," she interrupted, with an exasperated sigh, "And I'm bored to death, so I'm gonna take you up on whatever your offer is. So tell me what's happening."

"My niece," Sullivan answered, "She knows what happened to my brother, but she got injured, and I need backup to stop the thing that caused his disappearance."

Sounded complicated. Sounded like she might be stepping into a mine field of family drama. On the other hand, she thought, as she gazed at the deck of scattered playing cards on a dingy-looking comforter, it also sounded like a hecka fun.

"Count me in, love."

* * *

"So, you have a girlfriend?" Anna questioned, and made a face.

Sam gave her a look. "No, we worked together."

"Partners," she said, and smirked, "with benefits."

Sam had to admit, "Something like that, yeah."

"Great, you're just like Dad."

"I am _not_ like Dean," Sam retorted, and she giggled then groaned. Her stitches hurt like crazy.

"Hey," he said, worriedly, "Are you in pain? The meds running out?"

"No..." she began, uncertainly, and he frowned. "A little, I guess."

"You and Dean," Sam began, then shook his head. "Never mind. I'll give them a call." He got up and picked up the phone and dialed the number Anna's nurse had left on the dry-erase board.

After he hung up, she asked, "So, when's your booty call getting here?"

"Anna," he snapped, and she shrugged innocently and apologized. "A couple hours, now, I think. I gave her the hospital number. I've got to go check out the house now, so when she gets here, tell her where I am, all right?"

"You think it's goin' back to the same family?" she wondered, and felt the frown between her eyebrows.

He nodded. "It seems logical," he answered, and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair he'd been lounging in, and shrugged into it. She heard old bones popping and grimaced in sympathy.

"Do you ever just feel old, Sam?"

He stared at her for a second, not in annoyance, just sort of taken aback, and finally said, "Yeah, way too often. Get some rest, okay?"

She made a face, and he turned to go. "Be careful, okay?" she called after him, and he turned, and the smile on his face made her want to shiver.

He knew exactly how dangerous the Herla was, and he knew she knew. It wasn't a pleasant sensation. He might walk out, and never come back, and Anna had had that happen to her far too often for comfort.


	9. Promising Dead Men

* * *

**Nine - "Promising Dead Men" **

He'd been watching the house off and on, ever since he was sure that Anna was going to pull through, and so far, nothing had happened out of the ordinary. The father had come and gone, and then the mother had returned a little while later.

The boy got home from school, and Sam sat up a little, considering that maybe the Herl King was waiting for the family to be together before it tried again.

The thing he didn't get was the pattern. Why was the demon only going after child and father, leaving the mother out of the picture? It was more like something a serial killer would do, not a monster, who targeted a certain victim because of whatever sick need it had to fill.

However, there _were_ certain monsters that could exhibit that sort of characteristic, satisfying a need and desire at the same time. For instance, vampires. They still retained their human memories, and that affected how they killed, to certain degrees, depending on who they'd been and who they had become.

Like Gordon... even after being turned, his only desire had been to kill Sam, once and for all. It was as if the vampire became a twisted version of their human self. And if that self had already been twisted in the first place...

Sometimes, he still dreamed about it... How it'd ended. He'd wake up in a cold sweat, wishing it were just a nightmare and not a real memory. When he'd been with Michaela, she told him he always called one name right before waking. "Dean."

That's how she'd discovered who he really was. Still, she'd kept calling him John. Once, she'd even told him he'd earned it, the name, that is. She hadn't meant it as an insult... just the opposite.

But soon enough, things had gotten complicated for them. It'd started out as a partnership, and then they'd realized they were compatible in other ways, too. They'd found comfort in each other, and more, and for awhile, it'd been good. Until she got kidnapped, and he nearly ripped the man that took her apart. She had to literally drag him away from the man, who was already long past dead.

She'd asked him, plainly, if he was afraid of losing her. He'd told her he was, and she asked if he was going to be okay if that happened. He hadn't been able to answer her, and that's when they'd known they needed to walk away. She didn't spread rumors about how hard he was to work with--he'd earned that reputation on his own.

Meanwhile, he'd forced himself not to keep track of his brother. He hadn't even known Dean had a daughter, hadn't even known about Bobby's death until Anna had said something that made him realize. He had caught a bit of gossip, here and there.

That was how he'd heard about Dean's "death." He'd been sitting in a bar. It was a spot frequented by quite a few hunters. Some man had said, out of nowhere, the topic being of how many deaths the two hunters had seen that year, "I heard Winchester's son finally bought the long one."

"No kidding," the older, more grizzled hunter had replied, then whistled low under his breath. "Not John's son? How'd that turn out?"

"Heart attack," the first hunter had said, "Some diet that guy had. Huntin' prob'ly kept the pounds off, but the cholesterol musta got to..."

Sam had choked on his beer and lurched up out of his chair, making it scrape loudly. A few heads had turned, but no one had really seen. He'd left the bar, and the older hunter's raucous laughter behind, and stood outside in the dark, trying to catch his breath.

Now Anna was saying that her father wasn't dead, that there was a chance of getting him back. Dean... his brother.

The ghost beside him whispered, _"Yeah, Sam, you just keep lyin' to yourself. One of these days, those candy canes and lollipops will be for real."_

But as long as he had hope, he couldn't give up.

* * *

Somewhere in the depressing state of being confined to a hospital bed, Anna almost got up and went to find some clothes and play hooky. But, like an angel in disguise, a blond-haired woman, with sharp, golden-brown eyes came walking into her room.

She placed a hand on her shapely hip as if she knew just exactly what Anna'd been planning and declared, "You must be Winchester's kid. Boy, you remind me of your uncle John and your father, both. Not that I ever met your dad, personally, but I've seen his picture."

"That wouldn't be his mug-shot, would it?" Anna joked, lamely, and the woman snickered and came to claim the chair Sam had left by her bed.

She looked somewhere in her early forties, moved like a cat, and spoke like a street-wise punk. Anna felt instantly safe around her, and wasn't quite sure why. "How're you holding up, hon?"

So this was Michaela Conrad, Sam's ex-girlfriend.

"I've been better," Anna shrugged off the question. "You here to back up Sam?"

The woman's eyes flickered, momentarily. "I forget that's his real name. Stick to 'John,' hon. There were some nasty folks who wanted your uncle dead, way back when. They might still be around."

Anna swallowed, then told her, "He went to stake-out the house... of this couple. And their kid." She hated explaining things because she tended to get sidetracked by other thoughts and forget the simplest words, or even how to string a sentence together gracefully. Her father had teased her unmercifully. One of his favorite sayings was, _"You'd forget your head if it wasn't attached to your body."_

"The family the monster attacked?" Michaela questioned, and Anna nodded.

"By the way, sweety," she continued, "Johnny didn't ever tell me your name."

"Rob," she answered, instinctively, and could've smacked herself on the forehead. She refrained, this time. "Sorry... Anna. Call me 'Rob' in public, though, please."

Michaela raised an eyebrow. "Your uncle know you're a crossdresser?"

"I'm not--" she began to protest, then said, "Yeah. But I just dressed like a guy to keep from getting bothered too much. I mean, getting picked on for being a short guy is better than being molested any time of the day." She blushed.

Michaela giggled. "Don't worry, I know what you mean. You stuck here for long?"

"Ages," she replied, and Michaela nodded.

"Tell you what. I'll go see if John's okay, and give you a call if he is. If I don't call, that's the only reason you've got to get out of this bed, understand. I hear you were cut-up pretty bad. Lots of stitches?"

Anna would've squirmed if it wasn't for not wanting to cause herself anymore pain than she had to. "Some..."

"Right," the huntress retorted. "Stay put unless I don't call you in two hours time. Understand?"

She didn't like taking orders from strangers, but really, it wasn't anything Sam hadn't already told her. So she nodded sullenly, and stared down at her blankets. She felt her hair being tossled and moved her head away. "Hey!"

Michaela, already on her feet, dropped her hand and grinned. "Stay put." She strode out, boots tapping faintly away down the hall.

Anna felt like throwing the phone after her, but she sighed and forced herself to settle down into the bed and close her eyes. She'd sleep... because if she ended up having to go help Sam, she needed all the rest she could get.


	10. By Any Other Name

**Ten - "By Any Other Name"**

Sam had probably been dozing, he had to admit to himself. His energy levels weren't what they use to be, and he tended to drift off, if he was stationary, when he hadn't had plenty of sleep.

So the scream sort of jolted him out of it, and he grabbed the spell, and left the truck, busted through the front door of the house, and saw the mother, facing off against her husband, who was standing in front of the boy.

Sam pointed his gun, and threatened, "Stop, or I'm saying this spell again."

The Herla whipped around to face him, and her eyes flowed with darkness for a moment, before returning to a normal shade of brown again. Her fingers tightened around the kitchen knife. "You again," she snarled, "Stay out of my business, Winchester."

Sam told the father, "Get out of here," and he nodded, and took the boy through the patio door...

The demon gritted her teeth and hissed, "You forget I have one more hostage. You say that spell, and she's a rag doll."

Sam wasn't about to let the threat stop him from saying the spell. He had holy water, too, and enough smarts to get that knife away from her before she did the woman damage. "What's you game? You go after fathers and children--why?"

Her eyes narrowed, but she sneered. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone move beside the patio opening and wondered if it was the father, still hanging around. But he couldn't worry about that right now, so he ignored whoever it was, and kept his attention fixed on the demon.

He started saying the spell, and she made to cut the woman's wrist. He stopped and demanded, "Either you tell me, or I'm finishing this." He cared what happened to the woman, but he couldn't let her see that. It'd be better if she thought what everyone else did--that he was cold and calculated--not someone you wanted to trust your life to. Not someone you wanted for a partner.

She clenched her teeth, wondered, "That girl you're with... the transvestite, don't you wonder if she's telling you the truth? How her father got switched, all that?"

Sam demanded, "What do you mean?" He knew better than to believe anything a demon said, but sometimes it didn't pay to ignore them, either.

A smile crawled across her borrowed face. "A father trades his life for his child's... He's punished for eternity... who belongs in Hell, really?" She tilted her head, and Sam clenched his jaw.

"Is that it? Are you trying to punish Anna? Why not go after _her_ then?"

She laughed, cold and crackley, like a dry flame. "What makes you think he hasn't?"

Sam's eyes widened, just as someone leaped out and grabbed the possessed woman from behind. He didn't think about who it was, he just reacted, reciting the Ritual Romano from memory. The creature struggled with its captor, momentarily, then a cloud of black flew from her mouth. Before it vanished through the ceiling, it coalesced into a grey, dog-like shape.

Michaela--she must have snuck in while he was talking to the demon--gently lowered the woman to the carpet and removed the knife from her limp fingertips. "Sam, did I hear that thing right? Its master's gone after Anna?"

The fear in her eyes matched the lurch in his heart's rhythm. "We need to get back to the hospital. Now."

* * *

The nurse was trying to kill her... Crap.

She'd woken up, and it'd been there, smiling down at her, simply waiting for her to realize she was _this_ close to death. Anna didn't like being toyed with, especially not when she was the sort of toy that got eaten, afterward, when it got boring.

She finished stopping the flow of the IV, and sat down beside Anna on the bed. "You look so sweet when you're sleeping. I almost kissed you. But that would've freaked you out, right?" She grinned.

_'What's my father's true name?'_ she demanded of herself, silently, because it was the only way she was going to get out of this alive. "I'm not into chicks."

"No, I suppose not," The Herla replied. A diamond danced next to its host's ear like the devil on her shoulder. "I was looking for you... and I kept ending up in the wrong place. You and those children, you have the same feel, the same aura. I realized my mistake almost right away, but I kept killing them because I knew you'd notice eventually and come to _me_."

Anna questioned through clenched teeth, "You killed them because of me?"

"Doesn't it make you so angry?" the Herla asked, and flicked her fingertips outward. A length of fiery string snapped out like she'd had it rolled up in the palm of her hand. "If you weren't such a lost, little lamb, those poor babies might still be alive." She stroked Anna's cheek, and Anna jerked her head away.

"Why were you looking for me?" Anna questioned, ignoring the gibes.

"You kept me here... in this form," it said, darkly, true anger flaring in the depths of its occupant's eyes. "If you had crossed, along with your father, been trapped for eternity, I would've been freed!"

It grabbed the other end of the fiery string and went to wrap it around Anna's neck. She let herself fall off the other side of the bed, and scrambled to detach herself from the IV needle. The Herla stood, and continued speaking, deadly calm now, "You were pathetic. You thought your father was alive, and you couldn't give him up. As blind as Isaac. That stupid _naivete_ confused my search the first time, led me to a child and its father. I killed them both out of poetic justice. I created the pattern because I knew you'd be looking for him."

"My father _is_ alive," Anna said, around a gasp. The stitches were pulling, possibly being pulled out, but she needed to do what she could to survive. Sam might not know, and Michaela still hadn't called... She didn't want to think about what that meant, and she didn't think now was an appropriate time to check the clock. "And _you're_ the pathetic one. Do you even know what life you'd have to go back to if you became human again? Do you even think you'd still be human, really, after all you've done? You're a sick freak, and you're going to Hell, one way or another."

Her back ran up against a wall, and she knew this was it--the second time ever she was going to die. The voice in her mind that was Rob told tell her, sadly, _'Sorry, kid, last time I forgot to tell you 'goodbye.' See ya around. You're a goner for sure this time.'_

She retorted, _'Not if I can think of Dad's true name! I still have a chance... I still have one, little chance...'_ The whip flicked, and she threw herself out of the way and landed with a painful, "oomph" on the linoleum. Something had definitely busted open again. She tried to breathe and ended up sobbing, and heard footsteps over her head.

Her vision blurred as she looked up into the face of a woman who was used to smiling kindly, now smiling like she'd eaten the proverbial canary. A glowing, scarlet whip dangled a few inches from Anna's nose. _'Oh, Dad... I'm sorry. I'm sorry... I told your brother, though. I know Sam can get you back. You two will be okay, without me... right? You'll have each other again...'_

_'I'm sorry though... I know you'd never have let _him_ down... You never let _me_ down... never...'  
_

And it hit her, so she said, breathlessly and between sobs of pain, "Faith.. ful... Dean Winchester's ... name... is... faithful."

The Herla screamed... the whip in front of her nose vanished, and then the nurse hit the floor. Anna fainted.


	11. A Whiter Shade

**Eleven - "A Whiter Shade"**

Michaela knew that this was Sam in a rage. She'd seen it before when he'd practically torn a man apart for hurting her. She hadn't been hurt bad, not bad enough for anyone to deserve what he'd gotten, but Sam had gone berzerk. She didn't really want to remember what he'd done...

And now she was frightened he was going to do it again, but strangely happy he loved his niece enough to want to. At least it meant he had someone... Chaela hadn't ever really been completely his. And not because she hadn't wanted to be, but because he'd never let her in all the way. And she got the feeling he still harbored bitter spots in his heart, things even love and death couldn't erase.

Some of those parts of himself he'd hidden away behind that name--John Sullivan. A piece of his own father--(even though, she'd never known John Winchester, only knew what his son had told her about him)--and the name of a stranger, which was what he was, in a way.

So she didn't know what to expect when they got back to the hospital, back up to the room. They didn't find anything--the nurses said that Anna had gotten out of bed and reopened her stitches. The demon was nowhere to be found. Anna was being taken care of by a competent doctor...

Sam was fuming underneath that floppy hair of his.

Michaela reached out tentatively to rub his arm. "It's gonna be okay, love."

He offered her a tight smile. "If... If..." he said, a moment later, after staring at the strangers coming and going in the waiting room, "Dean would kill me."

"Your brother's dead, John," she said, quietly, and transferred her hand to his broad back. "But it doesn't matter--she's a strong one. She'll pull through."

His shoulders drooped even further, and he hung his head. She felt him shaking and moved closer to give him a half-hug. _'Oh, love... just let me in,'_ she begged him, silently, but he remained aloof, stiff against her touch.

Finally, the shaking lessened, and she drew away a little. "I'm sorry," he said to her, like he needed to apologize for his tears.

She frowned. "No need..." She dropped her hand to her lap and found the other side of the chair to lean on.

"Chaela... I--"

The doctor came and asked, "Phillips?" Apparently the name Sam had on whatever card he'd used this time.

"Yeah," he said, gruffly, and the doctor replied, "Your niece is going to be fine... But I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to meet with me in my office."

"What for?" Chaela wondered, using her sweetest, most innocent tone. Sam glanced at her, sharply, but she didn't even shrug at him.

"We need to have a private talk about Anna Winchester's condition on being admitted. Especially since she's been a missing person for a little over three years now."

Crap. "Sure," Sam said, oh, so casually, and stood to his feet. He glanced behind him at Chaela and gave her the look. She didn't respond to it, seeing as the doctor had her face in view. But Sam knew she'd understand, so he went ahead.

When the doctor's back was to him, Sam knocked the guy sprawling and made a run for it.

Chaela grinned, as the doctor spluttered, scrambled to his feet, and called for security. She headed for Intensive Care. If she'd gathered correctly, and she was pretty sure she had, Sam wanted her to get Anna and ditch the place. And really, she was okay with it because, honestly, she had nothing better to do and nothing she'd rather be doing than helping Sam break the law in all the right ways.

* * *

Anna felt bleary and sick, but Michaela kept asking her if she knew of any place that her uncle would know of too that they could go and hide out at.

"Unchle Bobbeeez," she slurred, and Michaela giggled.

"You okay, hon?" she wondered, and checked Anna's seat-belt again. They were in the Impala, she could tell, and she knew that Dean wouldn't be too happy about a stranger driving his car.

"Ish why I dressheed like a boy," she told no one in particular, already moving on from the earlier worry.

Chaela giggled again. "Come on, sweety, where's your Uncle Bobby's?"

Anna managed to give the specifics, although, through the ADD and the apparent intoxication, she'd probably never figure out how.

* * *

Sam almost didn't get past the police.

His niece seemed to have a bit of a reputation, although she'd managed to keep it on the clean side. But he wasn't sure "missing person" was any better than "wanted criminal."

Because when the cops heard about Anna's condition when she'd been brought into the hospital, they were immediately going to think "kidnap victim," and go after Sam.

But after some finely honed escape tactics, all thanks to his big, dumb brother, Sam managed to get past the cops and in the clear. And then he realized he had a new problem--finding where Chaela had decided to go.

He would've called her, but he didn't have his cell anymore, thanks to having to leave town in a hurry. He figured Chaela had probably gone back for the Impala though. He'd told her enough stories about Dean and his car for her to care about that.

That made him think about where Dean would've gone, all the secret codes and method's of finding each other they'd had. So his next thought was whether Anna had learned all that too, which made him think maybe Chaela wouldn't confuse him by going somewhere _she'd_ go...

She'd probably try to find some place that he'd have gone, and if Anna was lucid, she'd probably have thought to ask her. So he asked himself, _'Where would Anna go?'_

Bobby's, he realized, because if he was right, the man had practically helped raised her. Even if she _wasn't_ all too lucid, it would be instinctual for her. So chances were, that's where Chaela was headed.

_'Well,'_ he thought, wryly, _'I'll find out when I get there.'_

* * *

Chaela helped the girl up the steps to her Uncle Bobby's porch and then sort of leaned her against her own body as she checked to see if the door was unlocked. It was... creepily.

"Hey, kid...?" She propped Anna up a little more, dang the girl was heavier than she looked, and questioned, "Should I be worried about a rigged shotgun?"

"Noo... uh-uh," Anna replied, blearily. She looked wasted and sick, and she was barely holding up her own weight. "I left it li'e this... all emp'y and stuff..."

"Okay, hon," Michaela answered, and pushed the door open the rest of the way. She tried to turn on the light, but it wouldn't go on. No electricity. Double creepy.

"Okay, let's get you to this couch over here... there ya go, just lay there... I'm gonna see if I can find an old-fashioned lamp, or something." She looked around, and eventually found an kerosene oil lamp and a box of matches to light the wick, too.

She set them on the coffee table after pushing some occult tomes out of the way. "Your Uncle Bobby's kind of a freak, huh?" She wondered, assimilating the fact that he wasn't really Anna's birth uncle and that he was probably a hunter that Dean Winchester had known well.

"Yep... weirdo," Anna said, and offered a faint giggle before drifting completely off to sleep.

Sighing, Michaela rose and headed out again, making sure to lock the door behind her. She could pick the lock when she got back--she just needed Anna to be safe while she went shopping for some necessities. Sam would kill her if she didn't take care of his brother's kid right.

And Anna had a fever and looked paler than death.


	12. Grave Won't Hold

**Twelve - "Grave Won't Hold"**

When Michaela got back to the house, she had to set down the sack of antibiotics she'd gone out to get, along with the bag of other odds and ends of supplies. (She'd had to find a contact with medical supplies, and then pay them cash. So she'd used the credit card she saved for such occassions in an ATM... all of which had taken her far too long.) She was a little worried about how the girl was doing, so she hurried to pick the lock she'd done up herself, and went inside.

The couch was empty. The lamp stood guttering on the coffee table.

"Hon? Anna!" she called, and went to set down the bags. "Where are you?"

She drew her derringer from her boot and headed to the other parts of the house she hadn't investigated yet. She found Anna, upstairs, rocking on a bed, holding a stuffed animal and singing a song, probably Metallica, to herself.

"Honey," she said, and slipped the gun back into her shoe, and went to go sit on the edge of the bed beside the girl. She was a girl, after all, only about twenty years old. "You need to rest... It's okay if you stay in here, but it'd be easier for me to... to get you stuff, if you stay on the couch near the kitchen." She'd barely caught herself from saying "to keep an eye on you." Anna didn't need to feel like she was some sort of prisoner--she wasn't, but that was beside the point.

Anna smoothed the hair of the furry creature she held, and Michaela questioned, gently, "May I?" and reached out to take it. Anna glanced at her, sideways, but offered her the tattered, old thing.

She took it and turned it to peer at its face in the dim light. It was almost morning, but the room was still pretty dark and creepy. It looked like a bear, but it's eyes weren't button-black--they were blue. She asked, "What's his name?"

"Dean Samuel Winchester," Anna replied, and took him back from Michaela, who gently tugged on her arm and stood.

"Come on, hon, we need to--"

Anna started crying, softly, and sobbed, "He's not coming back... he's... not... coming..."

"Who, sweety?" she questioned, and crouched down in front of her, cupped her face between her hands.

Anna sniffled valiantly, shook her head. "My daddy... I said his true... name... but... he didn't... come." Her breath hitched, and she leaned forward onto Chaela's shoulder.

"Oh, hon..." she murmured and rubbed her shoulder, aware that she probably didn't need her back touched where she'd been injured. "Come on, now... let's go to the living room. You'll feel better once you take some medicine, okay?"

"Okay," Anna said, voice wan, head down. She rose though, and let Chaela help her down the stairs and onto the couch.

Anna settled into the couch, lying down, and Chaela moved to turn up the wick of the lamp before it went out completely. A movement caught her eyes, and she grabbed the knife from her belt, closer than the the derringer, and probably more effective.

The man stepped forward, out of the shadows, and Chaela heard Anna gasp. "Dad!"

_'Dad?'_ "What the heck?" she said aloud, but didn't take her eyes off of the stranger.

He was maybe fifty, but most of his lines were around his eyes, evidence that he'd spent his life smiling quite a bit. His eyes were a light color, maybe blue or green, and he wore a dark leather jacket, and carried himself like he knew who he was, where he was, and who he trusted... and didn't.

"Get away from my daughter," he said, and Michaela swallowed. There was no missing the threat in his gruff voice. He would kill her if she didn't scoot.

So she moved, quietly, quickly, but she didn't put her knife away. Dean Winchester was supposed to be dead. It didn't matter that she'd never seen him in person--Anna had recognized him, which either meant he was here, and there'd been a miracle, or something had gone really, terribly wrong.

"Dad..." Anna said again, voice small and scared. "It's you... right?" She sat up a little more, and then winced and sucked in a sharp breath, holding her arm around her middle.

The greying man hurried forward like he'd forgotten Michaela was even in the room. "Babe, what happened? What's wrong?" He sat down beside Anna and started fussing. "And what'd you do to your hair?"

Anna giggled, and then gasped. "I have antibiotics and painkillers," Michaela said, and put her knife away. If he was a zombie, he was a zombie who loved his daughter. Either way, she doubted she'd be able to beat him in a fight.

She moved to get the bag, and he reached out to catch her wrist. "Who are you?"

"Michaela Conrad," she snapped back, "Your brother's ex-partner."

"My..." Dean said, mouth dropping open. Then he recovered, and retorted, darkly, "My brother's dead. Who are you?" His grip around her wrist tightened.

So she slapped him and said, sternly, "Your brother is alive. You're the one who's supposed to be dead, idiot."

He looked stricken, confused... a little itchy even. She didn't blame him. If _she'd_ been under the dirt for a couple years, and came out and hadn't taken a bath yet, she'd feel itchy too. He let go of her hand and turned to Anna. "Is she telling the truth? Sam's alive?"

Anna nodded, then suddenly sagged back against the couch arm. "Anna!" he shouted and turned to the bag and tried to fumble it open with his clumsy fingers.

Michaela smacked his hands away and did it herself. "Go get her a glass of water," she ordered. "Or better yet, see if you can get the electricity back on."

He retorted, "How do I know you didn't do this to her?"

"She didn'," Anna murmured, but looked too shakey to say anything more.

Dean cupped her face and stood up. "I'll be right back. You," he said to Chaela, "You better be tellin the truth."

When he got back with the water, Chaela wondered, "The water's still running?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" he wondered, and sat down next to Anna again, took the pills from Chaela and offered them to his daughter. He made sure she kept her grip on the glass as she drank.

"Electricity's gone," she replied, "No one's been living here for awhile."

"I... stop by," Anna said, a little breathlessly, then when Dean set the glass on the table, she caught his hand and held it as if she were afraid of letting him go. She probably was.

"Where's Bobby?" Dean asked, the confusion returning.

"Dead," Anna said, and choked up... She didn't cry this time, though, and Chaela wondered if she were trying to stay brave because of her father's presence. "Old..."

Dean's jaw clenched for a moment, and she saw him swallow, but on the surface, he recovered quickly and ruffled Anna's short hair. "You look like a boy."

Michaela put in wryly, "I think that was the point."

He glared up at her. "What?"

"Let her rest now," Chaela answered, hoping it would change the subject. "Anna, lay down, hon. Your daddy's not going anywhere."

Dean's eyes narrowed--she noticed they were green--but he repeated to Anna, softly, "Go to sleep, okay?"

She nodded, and sank back into the couch. She closed her eyes only after she saw that Dean wasn't going to leave her. As soon as she did, she fell asleep.

"What's happened?" Dean questioned, "You said that Sam's alive, but he died in a car wreck eighteen years ago."

"More like twenty-one," Chaela corrected, and he frowned. "Your daughter's three years older and wiser, and you've been... dead all this time."

He flinched. "No... that's..." His eyes grew distant, and his thumb rubbed absently against the back of Anna's hand. "I had a heart attack, and Anna made a hell-hound deal..." He closed his eyes and groaned. "I got her outta it with my own life."

"You made a trade?" Chaela wondered, and found the next-closest spot to the couch, an armchair.

"Yeah," he said, and his eyes returned to the present. "What happened to my daughter?"

Chaela shrugged. "The thing you traded places with attacked her. It wanted her dead, for some reason. I haven't had a chance to ask Anna yet, but it must have something to do with the trade. Otherwise, why go after her for so many years?"

"It was _after_ her?" Dean snarled, and she almost regretted admitting it.

"Calm down--it was setting a trap, not actually hunting her down. I don't know the details, but it involved the murder of kids and their fathers." She gave a shrug that didn't quite tell the whole story but managed to get close enough. "I'm thinking you trained her well, and she's pretty smart on her own, too."

"Where's Sam?" Dean questioned, neither acknowledging nor denying what she'd just said. She wondered if that was why the girl had been trying so hard not to cry in front of him. When Sam got here, she was going to have a long, long talk about his brother with him, family drama though it was.

"On his way," she answered, "I'm going out again--light company. Don't wanna be living in the dark ages, do we, hon?" She stood and started to take out the keys of the Impala and grimaced. "Oh, by the way... I'm borrowing your car."

"You are no--" he started to protest, and she shot back, "Would you rather _I_ stay with Anna, there?"

He stilled, glared at her, but didn't say anything more. When she turned away, she felt herself grinning. He obviously loved his daughter more than his ride--there was hope for him, yet.


	13. Only a Full House

**Thirteen - "Only a Full House"**

Sam pulled into Bobby's driveway and stared at the Impala. He half-expected Dean to walk out of the house, give him one of those big, goofy grins, and wave like he'd been waiting for him to arrive. He shook off the old ghost from his shoulder and got out, making sure he had all the weapons he needed, just in case something happened.

He walked up to the front door, checked to see if it was locked and then gently eased it open, when he found it wasn't. "Chaela?" he called, and stopped cold just inside the entry.

There was Dean, sitting up, fingers tense around the arms of the sofa, staring at Sam like _he_ was the ghost. Well... he was... sort of.

Sam drew his gun, and aimed. "Who are you?" He glanced over and saw that Anna was on the couch, sleeping. She looked fine, other than a little pale, so whoever this imposter was, he hadn't hurt her.

"Sam...?" Dean questioned, and stood up. He walked forward a pace, and then stopped.

The lamplight flickered, and demons danced in the shadows on his face. "My brother's dead, so who are you?" Sam demanded again, but his hand was shaking.

"Sam, it's me," Dean said, and swallowed. "I don't know how... but I got out of... wherever I was."

Sam wanted to believe him, really, he did, but the greying, brown hair, the lines around his eyes, they were throwing him off. It was Dean, but it wasn't. "Dean?" he asked, voice cracking a little, like he was still going through puberty. It was ridiculous.

"Yeah, dork," the stranger said, and Sam drew a sharp breath and put his gun away. He closed the distance in one huge step and clasped his arms around the shorter man, and Dean held him back.

"I thought _you_ were dead," he groused, and Sam couldn't help the chuckle that rumbled up from his belly and reverberated through his chest.

"God, you're still a sissy," Dean said, and pushed him away, roughly, "I thought the years would've toughened you up, but you still have the same girly hair and everything." He shook his head, but he was grinning.

"I cut it; it grows out."

Dean chuckled, but then something changed, minute and invisible, but nevertheless, there was something different in the air now, as his brother stepped away from him. "Why'd you do it?" he asked, and Sam knew what it was now. Accusation.

"Dean..." he begged, wishing he wouldn't be forced to explain why he'd made choice to fake his own death. "I did it for you... I thought you'd understand that."

"No," Dean said, coldly, and demanded, "I tried to drink myself to death, Sam. I tried a million different ways to put myself six-feet under, and you didn't even bother to keep track of me to notice? Did you even know you had a niece? 'Cause I'll tell you what, Anna's the _only_ thing that kept me around this long."

Sam winced and started to say something, when the door behind him opened, and he turned in time to see Chaela entering. She saw him and Dean at opposing angles, and offered a wry, half-grin. "I see the lines have been drawn already. Glad you made it, love. You have to break out of jail?"

"Nah," he told her, flippantly, and gave her a brief hug, just because he needed to do _something_ to win the upperhand. Right now, making Dean jealous was about all he had left. She raised a brow at him, but squeezed him back. "But they did think I kidnapped and..." He trailed off, and glanced toward Dean, too late to stop his words but soon enough to see the flare of worry and anger.

"What happened to Anna?" he questioned, "How bad is she hurt?" He started to go to her, but Chaela made it across the room in time to block his way.

"Stop," she ordered, "You touch her and wake her up, and you're going to regret it, Dean Winchester."

He balked, but asked, "What happened?"

"The Herl King attacked her, it had some sort of energy whip," Sam explained as clinically as possible. "It cut into her stomach pretty deep," he finished, noticing his brother had gone pale.

"Let me see," he demanded, turning to Chaela. She glared up at him, but finally moved out of the way. He sat down on the edge of the couch and carefully lifted Anna's shirt, until it reached the bandages, which were looking a little too bloody at the moment.

Mostly, it was dried, though, but that probably didn't help his brother's peace of mind any.

"God... is she going to be...?" Dean didn't allow himself to finish that sentence, and Sam knew the old tactic of denial far too well.

But he was old and tired, and blunt now, and he said, "She's not gonna die. She's strong. Maybe a little too strong."

"What the heck is that supposed to mean?" Dean shot back, jerking around to glare at Sam.

"It means," Chaela beat him to the punch, "That you raised your daughter to be a warrior. But sometimes girls need to be girls... and not boys." She smirked, and Sam knew she was both proving a point and getting a kick out of doing it, at the same time. Chaela'd always had a wicked sense of humor, like that. It was something he'd enjoyed about her.

Dean, if possible, looked even more taken aback then when he'd seen Anna's wound. He glanced at Sam, and finally, the words filtered into Sam's brain, crawling out of his dark, dank memory, _'... you raised your daughter to be a warrior.'_

"I'm not a bad father," Dean said, voice low, more injured than angry.

Sam shook his head. "No... you're not. Chaela, mind apologizing?"

She frowned at him, but then must've seen a little of what was going on behind the silence and nodded. "I'm sorry, Dean. Sam's right, you did the best you could. And you could've done a lot worse. At least she knew how to take care of herself."

Dean accepted her apology with a nod, and turned back to Anna and smoothed her too-short blond hair away from her forehead. "We'll finish talking later, Sam," he mumbled. "Chaela, you get the lights turned on again?"

"They'll be on by tomorrow," she answered, with a smug grin. "But it's getting light outside, now."

Sam turned to look at the light, filtering in through the living room window. It was morning.

- - -

It seemed strange that the cars were all still there. The junkers of yore had outlived their master. Dean didn't think it was fair--Bobby should still be alive. But he was glad it wasn't Anna. Nothing would've made it better then, not even Sam being alive, when he shoulda been dead.

"Beer?" Sam wondered, and handed one down to him. He pushed the porch-swing into motion again, and took it, decapped it and tossed the cap down into the already scrappy yard.

Sam settled down next to him, and wondered, "So, how's it feel to be the one back from the dead?"

"Peachy."

Sam chuckled, and took a swig of his beer. They rocked for awhile, and then Dean wondered, abruptly, "Seriously, you had to fake your death, man?"

"I'm sorry, Dean..."

"Don't give me that bull. If you were really sorry, you'd never have done it. I want the truth--Were you sick of me? Were you tired of bein' the little brother? Did you think I couldn't take care of myself when the psychos came a callin'?"

"Am I allowed to say 'all of the above'?" Sam joked, and Dean jabbed him in the side with an elbow. He laughed, and they fell into a less uncomfortable silence.

"I don't wanna go all melodramatic on your butt, but '_why_', Sam? I don't get it? I could've handled it. _We_ could've handled it. Together."

"I was young, stupid... and scared," Sam answered, finally, "I thought it was the right thing to do, but all these years, I've wondered if maybe I wasn't just running away. Don't... don't hold that over my head forever, Dean, please. We just got each other back... let's just start fresh."

Dean was silent, drinking, mulling. He shrugged, suddenly, and grinned. "Yeah, okay. Com'ere." He hooked an elbow around Sam's neck and Sam grinned, lopsidedly.

When he let go, Sam wondered, "Tell me about Anna."

Dean sent back a lecherous smirk. "Why don't you tell _me_ about Chaela?"

- - -

Chaela slid the door shut on the tail-end of Dean's joke. What a guy... no wonder he'd never settled down. But it was good to hear the brothers getting along. It was more than good to know they'd both somehow cheated fate and death, and all that put together. It left a nice warm, squishy feeling in her stomach.

And as she looked at Anna, sleeping soundly, her fever down now, she wondered if maybe this time it'd work out between her and Sam.

She grinned wickedly, and thought to herself, _'I think I'll stick around and find out.'_


	14. Better Off

**A/N:** Well, last chapter, but I liked writing this one, so I might write a drabble of Anna's childhood one day. Thanks for reading! L.

**Fourteen - "Better Off"**

Anna thought she'd been dreaming, and she was happy to just keep right on, but now she felt herself waking up--felt the reality more sharply, and she wasn't sure she wanted to come out of it.

And then she heard voices, and laughter, and sensed something familiar in it. She slowly opened her eyes and then lifted a hand to wipe away the grittiness around them. "...doing good. She'll probably wake up soon."

She recognized Michaela's voice, and sat up a little more. There was someone else... No, two other people; she could hear them. One of them was Sam, and the other had sounded familiar, but she hadn't been able to place him.

She looked down at herself and saw the lack of a jacket, her armor against being too obviously a woman. Biting her lip, she got up and looked around for it, but it was nowhere in sight.

"I hope so," the man replied, gruffly, "I need to have a talk with her."

There was silence, and Anna's heart beat faster. They'd been talking about her, and the man already knew she was a girl. Dang it. She'd _told_ Sam to keep it a secret. What if the guy--

Her father strode into the living room, saw her and ordered, "Anna Winchester, sit back down before you pass out!" She was already sinking to her knees by the time he reached her and held her up, pulling her over to the couch and sitting her down.

He leaned over her and questioned, "Are you okay?"

"D-Dad...?" she questioned, and he blinked.

"Hey," he said, and sat down on the coffee table, "Don't you remember?"

"No," she said, voice wispy and uncertain. "Did you trade places with... with... the Herla?"

He winced, and Sam came to stand at his shoulder. She noticed Chaela leaning against the doorjamb to the kitchen, arms crossed over her chest. "Yeah, he must have," Sam said, "But he doesn't remember. Did you find his true name, Anna?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I did..." She didn't tell them what it'd been. Somehow, she felt it was private, between her and her father, or something.

"Babe, you've got that zoney look," Dean said, "Wanna focus, here?"

Even just to be scolded by him again, she felt happy. Her eyes misted, and she looked down before he noticed. He didn't exactly not like it, but it'd always made him uncomfortable when she cried, so she tried to either keep it from him or not do it, at all.

"Hey," he said, and pulled her into a hug. "You gonna go all shy on me, I'm gonna have to tick you off or something."

She sniffled in his ear, and he drew back to get a look at her. "Aw, jeez, it's okay..." he said, already looking nervous and uncomfortable.

"I'm okay," she said, and gave him a wobbley smile.

He grinned and half-patted, half-noogied her head. "God, I hate this hair cut. Why the heck did you cut off all your hair?"

Anna blushed and stammered, "I-I-I... d-didn't want... um... Y-You know how guys... I d-didn't want..."

"What the overwhelmed girl is trying to tell her overbearing father," Chaela cut in, dryly, "Is that she didn't want to get mauled by every horny male that came along. So she dressed up like a boy to keep from being noticed so much. Because, obviously, the girl is too beautiful for her own good, especially without her overprotective daddy around."

"Chaela," Sam said, and moved back to her a few steps.

Dean scowled, and then searched Anna's face, finally, he said, a little too calmly, "Can you two love birds excuse us for a sec? I need to talk to my daughter alone."

"She's my niece too," Sam said, sounding like he was ready to defend her.

The glare on Dean's face increased, but he aimed it at Sam. "Get out."

"Ooh, them's fightin' words," Chaela taunted, and Anna let out a breathy, little laugh.

"What the heck?" Dean demanded, "I'm not gonna beat her, or anything. Just get out so we can talk in private, all right?"

"Look, Dean," Sam said, arms awavin', "I'm just watching out for Anna's well-being."

"Well-being?!" Dean exclaimed, "I'm just gonna talk to her!"

Sam nodded, appearing unconvinced. "Emotional well-being."

Dean's mouth dropped open, but he recovered after a moment. "What gives you the right to accuse me of--"

"You sound like Dad," Sam said, and it stopped his brother cold.

Anna'd had enough, though, "Just get out, Sam, okay? I need to talk to my dad."

"Don't talk to your uncle like that," Dean snapped, and she winced, but clenched her jaw, stubbornly.

Sam shook his head. "No, she's right. Come on, Chaela, we need to talk too."

Chaela pushed away from the jamb and came to stand beside Sam instead. She smiled up at him, languidly, and he narrowed his eyes at her but said, "About stuff..."

Dean smirked, and watched as the couple left the house, shutting the door behind them. He looked at Anna, and said, "They make a cute couple."

"Yeah," she answered, "What did you want to talk about?" She already had an idea.

"What happened? You tried to keep me alive by making a deal--I remember that, but then what? I cast some sort of Irish spell and got myself into a life-long contract as some sorta huntsmaster?"

"Something like that," she said.

He nodded. "The important thing is I'm back..." He shifted, like he was uncomfortable or something. Then again, he was sitting on the coffee table, books jabbing him in the butt. "I can take care of you again. You don't need to..." He made a motion with his hand, like he was trying to sweep the air in front of him away.

"Dad," she complained, more than a little embarrassed by the topic. She'd done what was necessary, but that didn't mean she wanted to discuss it with her father.

"Did something--?" He took a deep breath, and then questioned more forcefully, "You'd tell me if something happened to you, right?"

She blinked at him, a little confused, and then she realized he wasn't talking about a simple injury. He meant... "Dad!"

"You'd tell me, right?" he questioned again, more gently. The look in his eyes told her it'd kill him to find out anything _had_.

So it was good nothing had, but she did have some things to tell him, like about the hunt, and the Herla, and the first time she went up against it. He'd be angry later, when he saw the scars if she didn't tell him now. "Nothing like that happened," she assured him, then in the next breath confessed, "But the thing that got out when you traded... when you became the Huntsmaster, it started going after little kids and their dads. So I tried to stop it... and... I got hurt, but Uncle Bobby got me out alive."

She rolled up her sleeve, and he looked down to see what she was doing in time to see the weals around her upper arm. "God..." he murmured, and took her arm, smoothing his fingers over the scars. "It did that to you? That thing isn't alive still, is it?" He looked like he wished it was, so he could kill it all over again.

"No," she answered, and shook her head, "It's gone. I said your true name, and it went away... or back. I donno... But it won't be hurting anyone anymore."

He grinned, pride shining through, and she wondered if she'd ever seen him like this before. If she had, she'd probably been too bogged down by her own bitterness to notice. She'd always thought he was trying to make her something she could never be, but maybe he'd just been seeing ghosts when he looked at her. It didn't matter now, though. She was grown up enough to realize everyone had their faults. She still loved him, anyway.

He cuffed the side of her head, and wondered, "You want anything, baby? Hot chocolate? Beer?"

"Dad!" she complained, and then grew serious because he was already up and headed for the kitchen. "Promise me something?"

"What?" he asked, looking back at her, curiously. There was a little worry there, too, like he expected her to ask him to let her continue crossdressing, or something.

"Eat healthy from now on, okay?"

He looked like he wanted to refuse, but his eyes shone with something she _had_ seen plenty of times and hadn't been able to deny even when she was ticked off with him. "All right, babe. I promise."

**Epilogue**

Chaela threaded her fingers through his as they ambled through the junk yard together. "Nice place for a stroll," she joked, and he smiled.

"You don't think he's gonna yell at her, do you?" he asked, and she rolled her eyes at him.

"Joh--Sam," she inclined her head a little, grinning at him, shyly, "I don't know your brother well, but I can tell one thing about him. He loves his daughter, and he loves you. He'd never hurt either one of you, intentionally."

"Good," he said, and then couldn't think of anything else to say, so he squeezed her hand a little and kept walking.

After a moment, she stopped, so he turned to her and she grinned up at him and then suddenly wrapped her arms around his middle. It took him a second before he held her back, but when he did, he realized it felt darned good and he didn't want to stop. "Michaela...?" he asked, because he didn't want to go anywhere with their relationship that she didn't too.

"Hm?" she asked, and lifted her head. Honey-colored hair fell in her eyes, and he loosed a hand to brush it from her forehead. She showed him her teeth, and he knew she wanted to take their relationship anywhere and everywhere it possibly _could_ go.

So he kissed her smile, and they stayed like that for a little while longer.

**End.**


End file.
